[Poems from the Vernon MS]

I ceste liuere est escrit la estorie del Euangelie en engleis solum ceo ke ele est escrit en latin, et continue de la Anunciacion nostre seignour Ihesu crist. De la Natiuite benette. De sa Passio̧n. De sa Resurexion. De sa Ascension e de sa Glorificacion. Et de soun Auenement a Jugement et de nostre presentement en cors en alme.

Sum-while ich was wiþ sunne i-bounde,
And sunne me hath icast to grounde;
Bote, swete Ihesu, þi swete woundus
Leesed me haþ of harde stoundus.

Whon I to þe tornde my þouht,
Pynes to þole ne greueþ me nouht;
Þy Deþ me haueþ of serwe i-brouht
And loue to þe in me haþ wrouht.

Þe to loue is al my blisse,
Me longeþ sore þi woundus to kisse.
Swete Ihesu, my þouht þou wisse,
On þe to þenche þat I ne misse.

ffole þouhtes me were woned to tille,
ffeole tymes to don ille,
In word, In dede, In wikked wille,
Niht and Day, al me to spille:

Bote whon I me vndurstod
Þat þou for me scheddest þi blod,
ffolye to leue me þhouhte good
And to þe, Ihesu, I tornde my mood.

Bote ȝit I me bi-gon to drede
Þat he þat eggeþ mon to quede
Wiþ sunfol þouht me wolde lede
To wikked wille or fool dede.

Þerfore my þouht on þe i feste;
ffor þer i wot to fynden reste—
Of vche loue þou art þe beste,
Þou art þe loue þat euere wol leste.
Nis no mon, Ihesu, bote in þe
In whom bi-houeþ us I-borwed be.

Þi loue to winne, i wolde fonde,
Ȝif I me mihte wel vndurstonde,
Sum þing of þe to write and rede,
Þer-þorwh of þe to winnen mede.

And heo þat scholden hit iheren,
Of þe Gospel mowe sumwhat leren
Þat writen is þer-Inne of þe,
On Englisch tonge þorwh swynk of me.

Wyse men bi Olde dawes
Bokes made of goode lawes,
Hou me scholde hem wiþ rihte leden
And wys to ben in alle heor deden;

And þei no-þing ne wusten of þe,
But goddus heo maden of ston and tre,
And þing þat ne mihte seo ne here
ffor God heo honourede and heolde dere:

Sonne and Mone, Day and Niht,
Sterre and al þat ȝiueþ lyht,
Þat Goddus weren alle þei wenden,
And God of heuene no-þing ne kenden.

Of grete Clerkes also we fynde
Þat Bokes made of Beestes kynde,
Of ffoul, of Ston, of Gras, of Treo,
And al for Mon þeron to seo,

Solace to haue and techinge,
And hem to holde from fool lykynge—
ffor whose hereþ of Beestes kynde
Mony wondrus he may þer fynde,

ffeole þinges seon and here
Wher-þorwh he may him-self lere
Hys lyf to lede wiþ more wynne,
Good to do and hatyȝe synne.

A wys mon seiþ þat bestes weren,
Hert and Eddre, þeos þreo, and Ern,

Þat heore lyf chaungede þorwh here kynde—
ffor þus of hem I-write we fynde:
Þat kuynde ȝifþ vche mon eggynge,
Of vche good þing haue ȝeornyng.

Bote beter þyng ne mai no mon fynde
Þan þe, lord of alle þynge,
Þat Beest and ffoul and alle wiht
At wille beoþ vndur Monnes miht.—

Ihesu louerd, þi loue to wynne
Ȝif me grace to bi-gynne,
Loue me sende to fordo synne,
Þat al monkynde was bounden Inne.

Ar Godus sone in þe Maiden alyhte,
Aȝeyn þe deuel we nedde no mihte;
ffor we weren vndur his mihte,
Of good to don we loren þe sihte.

Þat tyme was sunne so ryf,
In Old, In ȝong, In Mon, In Wyf:
As sone as heo laften þe lyf,
To helle heo wenden wiþ-outen stryf.

Habraham, Ysaak, and seint Ion,
Dauid þe kyng, and Salamon,
Þidere heo wenden, euerichon,—
Heo nedden þo no beter won.

fforte Godus sone was don on Rode,
Þidere wente wikkede and goode,
Þe wikkede to pyne, wiþ dreri mode,
Þere to beo þe deueles foode;

Bote þulke soules swete
Þat here on lyue heore synnes leete,
In freo prisun þenne was heore sete,
To abyde þe biheste of þe prophete.

Prophetes weren I-woned to grede:
“Ow schal comen wiþ-oute drede
Þat flesch schal taken in Maydenhede
And us to Ioye of pyne lede.”

Whon God of heuene herde þis cry,
Of Monkynde he hedde mercy:
And ches a Mayde of gret ferly,
Clene in soule and in body.

To hire he sende a swete fere,
Þat him was swiþe leof and dere:
Gabriel, wiþ swete chere,
And hire gon grete on þis manere:

Heil, ful of grace, God is wiþ þe,
A-Mong wymmen I-blessed þou be!”
Þe Maide was dred on him to seo,
And þouhte what þis mihte beo.

Þenne him spac þe Aungel fre:
“Marie, nouht ne dreed þou þe!
A child schal beo boren of þe,
Iesus schal his nome be.

He schal þe ffader of heuene qweme,
In Dauid sete sitte and deeme,
Þe folk of Israel he schal ȝeme
And heore fon from hem fleme.”

Þenne onswerde þat swete Mayde
To þe Aungel Gabriel and sayde:
“Hou schal þis be? nouȝwher I ne leide
Mi þouht to luste of mon vpbreide.”

Þen þe Aungel hire herte dihte,
And of þis gretynge hedde in-sihte:
“Þe holy gost (he seide) schal in þe alihte
And in þe worche wiþ his mihte.

Þe chyld þat of þe schal beo bore,
Godus sone he schal beon i-core;
He schal þe folk, þat herbi-fore,
To blisse bringe, þat heo hedden forlore.

And þat þou þe soþe lere,
Þi nece Eliȝabeþ, lo here,
Þit is in elde feole ȝere,
Heo haþ chyld take of hire feere.

Þe sixte Moneþ now is anon
Þat heo haþ wiþ chylde igon—
ffor to God of heuene, þat is on,
Nis word of vnmihte non.”

Nolde Marie no lengore plede,
Þis wordes in hire herte heo sede:

“Lo me her Godus Mayde,
Wiþ me do God as þou hast sayde!”

As sone as þis was in hire þouht,
In hire was Monnes kuynde i-wrouht
And soþfast God was þerto i-brouht—
Mon, þer-of ne dred þe nouht!

Þe Aungel Marie God bi-kende
And to him eode þat him sende.
And sone aftur þat mayde wende
To Eliȝabeþ, hire kuynde frende.

Sone so þe Mayde Marie
Entrede þe hous of Ȝakarie,
Eliȝabeth In prophecie
Þe Maide custe and þus gon crie:

“A,” heo seide, “how may þis be
Þat my lordus modur comeþ to me?
As sone as ich herde þe steuene of þe,
Þe Child in my wombe makede gle.
A-Mong wymmen I-blessed þou be,
And blessed beo þe fruyt of þe!”

Þer bilafte þat swete may
Wiþ Eliȝabeth wel moni a day—
Ne louede heo no foles play,
Bote louede God and þonked ay.

Þenne þer was a swete metynge,
Swete cluppinge and swete cussynge!
A Mayde þat bar þe lord of alle þinge,
A wyf þat bar seint Ion in holy weddinge!

Þis was seynt Ion for whom bi-fore
His ffader hedde his speche for-lore,
And to þe tyme þat he was bore,
As þe Aungel seide bi-fore.
Ȝakarie was his ffadre name;
Gret mon he was and of good fame.

Tyme com of þe seruyse,
Þat he don scholde in heore wyse:
In þe temple he saih vp rise
Bifore him a mon, and him gon agrise.

Hit was an Aungel, Godes sonde,
Þat gon at þe Auter stonde,
And Ȝakarie he com to fonde,
Don his seruyse bad him not wonde.

“Ȝakarie,” he seide, “ne dred þou nouht!
Bifore God þi bone is wrouht;
Þat þou hast him bi-souht,
Schal in Eliȝabeth ben i-wrouht:

A child þou schalt on hire winne,
Þat schal ben Ioye to al his kinne,
I-blessed he beo hire wiþ-Inne;
Ion he schal hote, clansere of sinne.

At his Burth-tyme me schal gamen & pleye:
He schal greiþen godus weye,
To þe folk he schal soþ seye
And mis-bileue he schal doun leye.”

Ȝakarie onswerde wiþ dreri chere:
“Hou may þis ben on eny manere?
Boþe we beþ olde, ich and my fere,
And forþ igon in feole ȝere.”

Þe Aungel seide: “Þis schalt þou se.
And for þat þou leuest not me,
Þou schalt beo Doumbe, ich sigge þe,
fforte þat child ibore be.”

Þe Aungel bi-lafte no lengore þore,
Ne Ȝakarie ne spac no more,
Bote out he eode, sikynge sore—
Þe folk hedde wondur wherfore hit wore.

Bote heo seiden alle by-dene
Þat he haþ sum wondur i-sene
Þat he so longe haþ i-bene
In þe temple, as we wene.

Ȝakarie þenne dude his dede,
Nout for his fleschliche nede,
But child to wynnen, ȝif he miht spede,
And so of God to wynne meede.

Þat swete couple at þat metynge
Of ffleschliche lust hedde no lykynge,

Bote holy wille and swete egginge
To Godus seruyse chyld forþ bringe.

A child he won þorwh godus mihte,
Þorwh Godus heste, and hedde insihte:
In Eliȝabeth þe holigost lihte
And þat child in hire dihte.

Eliȝabeth ful glad was þo
Þat heo gon wiþ chylde go!
A-wey heo let al hire wo
Þat heo hedde fourti ȝer and mo.—

Whon þat child scholde iboren be,
His frendes aboute of þe cuntre
Wiþ blisful chere, gamen and gle
Alle he comen þe child to se.
Þenne seiden his frendes alle
Ȝakarie heo wolden him calle.

Þat herde þe Modur, þer heo lay,
And onswerde and seide: “nay,
“Mi leue frendes, doþ a-way!
Ion he schal hote, ȝif I may.”
Alle heo seiden þat þer nas non
In al heore kynde þat hihte Ion.

To Ȝakarie þe word heo brouhte
And bad him sigge what he þouhte.
And he a table sone souhte
And þeron þe nome wrouhte.

On þe tablet he wrot anon
Þe childes nome, he wrot Ion—
“God bi-fore he schal gon
And to him torne mony on.”

Wondur hedde þo al his kynde
Hou he mihte þis nome fynde.
Bote God his tonge let vnbynde;
And he him louede wiþ al his Mynde.

“God,” he seide, “i-blessed þou be,
Þat of his folk wolde haue pite,
And his Merci haþ i-sent to me,
Þat þis child schulde i-bore be!

And þou, child, schalt ben clept prophete,
Þou schalt greiþe godus strete,

Godus folk þou schalt . . gete
And hem teche heor sunnes bete.

Þis speche to godus folk Þou schalt preche,
Þou hem schalt þe soþe teche
Hou heo schulle to heuene reche.” [OMITTED]

Also as ich er seyde, þe Maide Marie
Hire lyf ladde wiþ-oute folye
Wiþ Eliȝabeth and hire cumpaygnye. [OMITTED]

Wiþ hem þenne was heo þore
Þreo Moneþes, oþur more,
Wiþ-outen sunne, wiþ-outen sore—
Heo louede god, þat was hire lore.

As seiþ þe holy mon seint Bede:
ffrom hire nece nout heo ne eode
Ar heo say fulliche in dede
Eliȝabeth seint Ion fede.—

Þenne heo þonked god, ful of blisse,
Þat he wolde seo hire mekenesse
And hire a sone sende in swetnesse,
To taken in hire monnes liknesse.

“Þerfore me schal al Monkynde
Blisful telle in heore mynde,
Þat he wolde in me Mekenesse fynde,
Þat mihtful in to lame and blynde.

Of Merci he was leche
ffrom kynde þat dredde his speche.
Of þe proude of herte he dude wreche,
And dude þe Meke an heiȝ to reche;

Þe hungri in god he made stronge,
And þe riche he lette al swonge.
Þe folk of Israel haþ vndurfonge
Þe child þat heo abide longe;
Also him spac þe heuene kyng
To Abraham and his ofspring.”

Whon Marie hedde i-seȝe þe dede
Of þe child and al þe neode,

Þe Mayden hire bi-gon to spede
And leue tok and hom heo eode.

Whon heo com hom, Iosep to queme
Þat als his spouse hire hedde to ȝeme,
In his herte he gon hire deme,
Hou heo mihte wiþ childe seme.

Whar-of hit were, noþing he nuste,
So as he neuere hire Mouþ custe
Mid wille of sunne, ne neuer luste
Hire Maidenhod fulliche vpbreste.

And for in him nas no falshede,
In word ne in þouht ne in dede,
In his herte nas no drede
Þauh heo hedde ilore hire Maydenhede.

And for he neuere ne saiȝ wiþ eiȝe
Þat heo to fool dede gon hire beyȝe,
Loth him was on hire to lyȝe,
Of fleschliche dede hire be-wrye.

ffor wel he wuste, nas þer no speche,
Þorwh þe lawe of spousbruche,
Bote hire þe domesmon bi-teche,
Sone of hire to take wreche.

Aȝe þe lawe him lyked ille
Þat me scholde a Mayde spille.
ffor-þi bi-fel hit in his wille
Þat Mayde lete and leuen hire stille.

Þo Ioseph in his herte wende
Ho[u] þis scholde come to ende,
A-slepe he fel, as god him kende,
And to him his Aungel sende:

“Ioseph,” he seide, “no-þing ne drede,
Marie as þi spouse þou lede;
Þat child in hire þo[u] schalt fede:
Hit is þe holigostes dede.

Þe holigost hire haþ beo mylde
And Marie haþ i-brouht wiþ chylde;
God in hire haþ i-do vertu:
His nome þou schalt clepe Ihesu.”

Whon Ioseph herde þis tyþinge,
Marie he heold in clene weddynge
And wiþ þe Maide in good lykinge
Mayde bi-lafte to his endynge.—

Bi hem þat weore bi-fore
Ioseph wuste whon god scholde be bore . . . .
Þat tyme was mih[OMITTED]
Augustus Cesar wa[OMITTED]
In al þat lond nas[OMITTED]
Ouer al þat lond w[OMITTED]

He criede his ban[OMITTED]
To alle þat weren[OMITTED]
Þat vndur him no[OMITTED]
Þat were of eny oþu[OMITTED]

Whon Ioseph þus h[OMITTED]
Wiþ him tok þe Ma[OMITTED]
Out of Naȝareth h[OMITTED]
And to Bethlehem h[OMITTED]

In Bethleem he tok his wonynge,
ffor Marie was neih childynge,
And for his kun and his ofspringe
Weoren of Dauidþes hous, þe kynge.

In Bethlehem hous he tok,
Luytel and pore, as seiþ þe Bok,
In an old cote and al to-falle—
Nedden heo no bettere halle.

Seint Ierom a Mayde kende
In a writ þat he hire sende:
Þat [þat] Mayde won hire bred
Wiþ hire nelde and hire þred.

Whon þat child was forþ brouht,
Luytel heo hedde oþur riht nouht
fforte leggen Inne þat Bern,
But a luyte hei oþur vern;
Heo wounden him wiþ þat heo mihten gete,
And leyden him, þer bestes ete.

Heo leyden him in Bestes stalles,
I-loke bi-twene two olde walles—

Þenne was fuld þe prophecie
Þat bi-fore seide Ysayȝe:

Þe Oxe and þe Asse hedde kennynge
Of heore lord in heore stallynge.
And Abacuc also haueþ i-seyd:
By-twene two bestes he scholde be leyd.—

So bi-fel þat ilke tyde
Þat in þe cuntre þerbisyde
Herdes wakede in a Mede,
Heore bestes and heore schep to fede.

Sone to hem an Angel wende
And to hem brouhte a swete tyþinge—
Heo bi-gonne to ben in doute
Of liht þat was þer hem aboute.

Þe Aungel seide: “nouȝt ȝe ne drede!
Ich wole ow telle a blisful dede:
A child is boren for oure nede,
Þat schal his folk of pyne lede.

And [þat] ich ou þe soþe bringe,
Þat ich ȝiue ow to tokenynge:
In Bethlehem he liht, i-wounde
In cloþus, and in a Crubbe i-bounde.

In a Crubbe he is leyd,
As ich ow habbe er i-seid.
He schal his [folk] of sunne bringe,
As crist and lord of alle þinge.”

[OMITTED]

VII. A preyer at þe leuacioun.

Welcome, Lord, In fourme of Bred!
In þe is boþe lyf and Ded,
Ihesus is þi nome.
Þou þat art In Trinite,
Lord, þow haue Merci of me
And schild þou me from schome.

Heil Ihesu, godus sone,
Holigost from heuene i-come,
Kyng þou art i-Coren;
Heil mon of most miht,
Godus sone þat art so briht,
Of Marie þou were boren.

Heil god, best þe be,
heil Blosme vppon tre,
Heried beo þi sonde!
Heil fruit, heil flour,
Heil be þou Saueour
Of watur and of londe.

Heil kyng, heil kniht,
heil mon of most miht,
Prince in þi Trone,
Heil Duyk, heil Emperour,
Heil beo þou gouernour
Of al þis worldus wone.

Heil flesch, heil blod,
heil mon of mylde mod,
Heil beo þow kyng;
Heil God ffeirest,
Heil beo þou, bern best,
Þow madest alle þyng.

Heil Rose vppon Rys,
heil mon of most pris,
ffor us þou were ded;
Heil God ful of miht,
Godus sone þat art so briht,
In fourme þou art of bred.

VIII. A preyer at þe leuacioun.

I þe honoure wiþ al my miht
In fourme of Bred as i þe se,
Lord, þat in þat ladi briht,
In Marie Mon bi-come for me.

Þi fflesch, þi blod is swete of siht,
Þi Sacrament honoured to be,
Of Bred and Wyn wiþ word i-diht;
Almihti lord, I leeue in þe.

I am sunful, as þou wel wost:
Ihesu, þou haue merci of me;
Soffre þou neuere þat I be lost
ffor whom þou diȝedest vppon þe tre,
Ac þorwh þat ladi of Merci most
Mi soule þou bringe in blisse to þe;
Repentaunce to-fore mi deþ,
Schrif[t] and Hosul þou graunte me,
Wiþ ffadur and Sone and Holygost,
Þat Regneþ God In Trinite.

Amen.

IX. Þe fyue Ioyes of vr ladi.

Haue Ioye, Marie, Modur and Maide,
As þe Angel Gabriel Message to þe saide
And brouhte þe tiþing
Þat crist wolde in þe aliht.
Help us, ladi, þorw þi miht
To habben his blessyng.

Haue Ioye, Marie, for þou were
Glad of Ihesu þo þou him bere,
And wiþ-outen pyning;
fful þou weore of Godus grace.
Help me, Ladi, to seo þi face,
ffeirest of alle þyng.

Haue Ioye, Marie, feole siþe,
ffor Ihesus a-Ros from deþ to lyue
In a morwenyng,
Þe þridde day þat he was ded.
Ladi, schild us from þe qued
And from his wikked tysyng.

Haue Ioye, Marie, for þou seȝe
Þat Ihesu crist to heuene steiȝe
In to his woniȝing,
And euere þou seȝe him at þi wille.
Help us, ladi, þat we ne spille,
Þorwȝ þi beo-seching.

Haue Ioye, Marie, þow were vp fet
And bi Ihesu crist I-set
Þer þat he is kyng;
Qween he made þe wiþ Croune.
Help us, ladi, þorwh þi bone,
And to blisse us bring. Amen.

ffadur and sone and holigost,
Al þat is and nis þow wost,
And art wiþ-oute bigining:
Lord, for þi Modur loue
Graunt vs þe Ioye þat is aboue,
Þat neuer haþ endyng. Amen.

X. An orisoun to god.

Lord, my God al Merciable,
I þe bi-seche wiþ herte stable
Þat I mouwe euere wilne þat þing
Þat most may beo to þy lykyng,

And wysliche folewen euere þi wille,
Sikerliche knowen and folfulle
Þe louereden of þi nome and blis,
Mi stat ordeynen as þi wille is.
Al þin askyng and þi wille
Euere do me, lord, folfille;
As me may most in soule nede
Þi wissynge help to spede.
Mi wei to þe beo siker and riht,
And harde i-fastnet wiþ þi miht,
Þat I in weole þe þonke so
And euere beo pacient in wo,
Þat I ne falle neuer mo
In nouþur of hem boþe two;
Ne þat I neuere glad ne be
But in þing þat lykeþ þe,
Ne serwe neuere bote for þing
Þat torne þe to mis-lykyng,
Ne þat I neuere desire to plesen
No mon falsliche ne displesen
Bote þe, deore lord, al-one,
ffor no drede of monnes mone.

Al erþliche þing beo vyl to me,
Lord, for þe loue of þe,
And alle þinges þat þyne be
Leof and deore mak hem me,
And þou al-one, Almihti kyng,
Out and ouer al oþur þyng
Euer beo most in my lykyng,
And wiþ me derworþest ouer alle þing.

Alle Ioyes beo nuyous to me
Þat ben, lord, wiþ-outen þe.
In alle trauayles þat ben for þe
Euer-more al my lykyng be.
Restes alle þat ne ben in þe,
Anuy and trauayle beo þei to me.
Euere myn herte to þe þou dresse,
Mi sunne to clanse wiþ serefulnesse.

Boxum me make wiþ-oute feyning,
And glad wiþ-outen ryotyng,

Serwhful wiþ-outen þat luþer last
To maken of my-self out-cast,
Meur wiþ-outen greuoushed,
And Murie wiþ-outen wyldehed,
Soþ wiþ-outen falshed
Or eny oþur doublehed
Of fikel word wiþ double entente
To bleenden þat þe sawe mente;
Dredful wiþ-outen wonhope,
And trust wiþ-outen ouer-hope;
Min euencristne to vndurnyme so
Þat þer ne beo no feynyng to,
And wiþ-outen eny pruyde
Hem to edefyen in alle tyde,
In word, ensaumple, and in dede,
To alle gode from alle quede;
Vmble wiþ-outen ȝein-siggyng,
Suffraunt wiþ-outen grucchyng.
Waker herte ȝif þou me
Euere, lord, a-bouten þe,
Þat neuer non oþur curiousete
Ne led my herte fromward þe.
Ȝif me herte so noble and fre
Þat no fals loue hit drawe fro þe.
Ȝif me herte þat neuermore fayle,
Ne bi conqueret in no trauayle.

ffreo herte, lord, ȝif me wiþ wynne,
Þat vuel delyt naue kalange Inne.

Rihtful herte ȝif me also
Þat no wrong wit ne enclyne to.

Lord, ffadur of alle Merci,
I þe bi-seche hertely
Cunnynge, þe to knowe ariht
Wiþ bisi sechinge day and niht,
Wiþ þat I kunne fynde,
Mi þewes in þi lykyng bynde;
Perseueraunce þe to abyde,
Ȝif me, lord, in vche a tyde,
Wiþ hope trewe and studefast,
Þat þe, lord, ay bi-cluppe fast;

Þorwh penaunce þat I mowe do
Þi pyneful [l]yf mowe lykne to;

And whil me lasteþ lyues space,
Gode werkes vsen þorwh þi grace,
Þyne Ioyes vsen and wiþ þe wone
In þi glorie, wiþ ffadur and sone.

Amen.

XI. An orisoun to vr lord Ihesu.

Lord, Swete Ihesu crist: Haue Merci of me,
Þat out of heuene come: In to eorþe for me,
And of þe Mayden Marie: Boren were for me,
And on þe cros suffredest: Bitter deþ for me.

Of Merci I þe bi-seche: Þat mest of mihtes may,
Swete Ihesu my cumfort: Mi solas and my play;
Of alle vices me deliuere: And of pruide, I þe pray,
Þat I may þe louen as lord: And knowen for God verray.

fful muchel ouhte i þe to louen: In stable treuþe and fay,
Whon þou were god and art: And schalt ben euere and ay,
Com in to eorþe for my loue: To take my kuynde of clay,
In þe world to wynne vs wele: Þou suffredest men worchen þe way.

In þe world, as I seide er: In bodi, fflesch and Bon,
Hunger and ffurst heddestou boþe: In hot and Cold to gon,
Blod and watur þou swattest boþe: And Teres Mony on,
And seþþhen for þe loue of vs: Þi deþ þen hastou tan.

fful hard and deolful was þi deþ: Hose hedde hit in þouht,
Whon þat þi blessede bodi: Þat neuere no sunne wrouht,
Among þis false Iewes: Þi-seluen hast hit brouht,
And seþþen wiþ þi blessed blod: ffrom bale þou hast us bouht.

A Croune of þornes vppon þin hed: Þei setten scharp and fresch,
Heo þe nayleden hondes and feet: Boþe þorwh bon and flesch;
A spere þorwh þi syde stong: Þyn herte was ful nesch,
Whon þe blod and watur sprong: Þat vs of synne wesch.

Þerfore, Ihesu, I preye þe: Þat ful art of pite,
ffor my sunnes þat ichaue don: Let me neuere dampned be;
But graunte me grace in to myn herte: Ihesu in Trinite,
Of stable treuþe and rihtwys werkes: Loue and Charite.

fful ofte ichaue þe wraþþed: And broke þi Comaundement,
Wiþ al my fyue wittes: In lyf þat þou me hast lent,
Vnwisliche hem dispendet: And not in good entent,
Boþe þorwh myn owne wille: And oþure entisement.

Bote, swete Ihesu, woltou me here: wiþ schrift ichaue þe souht:
In mony werkes, as I seide ere: Vuele ichaue I-wrouht,
Non of hem schal ben vnpunissched—: Þeron is al my þouht;
I take me al to þi Merci: ffor loue for-ȝet me nouht.

Wiþ Mylde mod and sikyng sore: I be-seche þe
ffor my ffrendes, Ihesu crist: As wel as for me.
On domes-dai whon þou schalt demen: Scheuh us þi face freo,
And bring vs in to paradys: Þer endeles blisse schal beo.

Amen.

[XIII. A confessioun of wyrschip in orysoun.]

God þat al hast mad of nouht,
ffor loue of mon þat þou hast bouht;
Wher in þe world so þat i be,
Wiþ al myn herte I þonke þe:

Þat þou me madest on of þyne,
And bouhtest me wiþ bitter pyne.
I þonke þe, lord, wiþ good entent
Of wit and grace þou hast me sent.

Wiþ al myn herte and mylde moode
I þonke þe, lord, of alle gode.
I preye þe, lord, þou graunte me miht
Wiþ al myn herte to loue þe riht.

I preye þe, lord, out and Inne
Þat þou me schilde from dedly synne;
I preye þe, lord, þat þou me wisse
And bring me to þi muchele blisse.

Amen.

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

Marie Modur, Qwen of heuene,
Þenk on me and here my steuene!
Marie Meke and Mylde of mood,
ffor loue of þat holy Rood,
Marie, þat þou seȝe on Rode
Whon þou bi þi sone stode,
Marie, þat Ran out of his syde
fforte falle þe fendes pryde,
Marie, ȝif me knowynge of my synne,
And let me neuere die þer-Inne;
Marie, schild me from vueles alle,
And let me neuere in fondynge falle.
Marie, prei for me þi sone
Þat myn herte euere on him mone,
Marie, to louen him ouer alle þyng
Wiþ herte trewe to myn endyng.
Marie, i preye þe Meke and Mylde,
ffor loue of þi swete childe,
Marie, my scheld beo aȝeyn þe fende
Whon I schal out of þis world wende.
Marie, of myn ende is al my drede,
Of my sunnes and of my misdede:
Marie, forþi þou rewe on me,
Þat I þorwh þe may I-saued be.
Marie, Mi ffrendes, quike and dede,
Þou hem wisse and þou hem rede,
Marie, In to þat holy blis
Þer Ihesu crist him-seluen is.
Marie, at my deþ whon I schal fare
Out of þis world, droupe and dare,
Marie, help me þenne as on of þyne,
And bring me out of serwe and pyne,
Marie, in to blisse, wiþ þe to wone,
ffor Ihesu loue, þi deore sone.

AMEN.

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

God þat art of mihtes most,
Þe seuen ȝiftus of þe holigost
I preye þat þou ȝiue me,
Þat I may þorwh þe grace of hem
Wynne þi loue and of alle men,
And euere to qweme þe.

Lord, for þe ȝifte of pite
Ȝif me grace sunne to fle,
Ȝif hit beo þi wille;
And þorwh þe ȝifte of drede also
Euere godnesse forte do,
And neuere to don ille.

In wit, louerd, wys me make,
Worldus pruyde euere forsake,
ffor þi woundus fyue.
Ȝift of strengþe graunte þou me,
Out of sunne euer to be,
Whiles icham a-lyue.

In-sihte ȝif þou me also
Þe to knowe, in weole and wo
Wheþer þat i beo Inne.
Ȝift of counseil put in me
Euere for to serue þe
Clene wiþ-oute synne.

Sende me wisdam, forte se
Mi wrecchednesse and my frelete
Now and eueri day;
So þat at my lyues ende
To þat Ioye þow me sende
Þat lasteþ now and ay.

Amen.

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

Lord, I ȝelde me gulti
Þat I neuere fedde þe hungri,

Lord, as þou bede me;
I ȝaf no drinke þe þhursti,
Wiþ wille ne wiþ bodi:
Merci, lord, I crie þe.

Þe naked, lord, I ne haue not clad
To my pouwer, as þou bad,
Nouþur wiþ dede ne wille;
Ne sek folk ne cumforted I:
Þerfore, lord, mak me sori
Þat I haue don so ille.

Dede bodies haue I graue non,
But heold despyt of vchon
Wher þat I hem sawe.
In myn herborwh herborwhed I non,
Pore Mon ne Pilgrym, of fflesch and bon,
To folfulle þe lawe.

Prisones þat harde i-bounden lay,
I ne visitede hem Niht ne day:
Lord, for-ȝiue hit me,
And alle oþur wikkedhed,
Þat I may comen aftur my ded
And wonen euere, lord, wiþ þe.

Amen.

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

Lo[r]d, sunged haue I ofte
In my fyue wittes, wiþ wille and þouȝte:
In Lecherouse sihtes,
Wiþ myn Eres herd wikkede sawes
Of myn Euencristne a-ȝeyn þe lawes,
Boþe day and nihtes.
In tast haue I had gret lykyng
And passed mesure In Mete and drink:
Lord, for-ȝiue hit me;
And þat ichaue sunged in smellyng,
And also, lord, in synful felyng,
Ȝif þi wille be.

AMEN.

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

Inwardliche, lord, bi-seche i þe,
Al my trespas for-ȝiue þou me:
Þat I haue broken þi Comaundemens
Aȝein þi wille and þi defens.
I haue not loued þe ouer alle þyng
And worschiped as my lord, my kyng;
Min Euencristen ne loued I nouht
As my-self, in wil ne þouht.
Þi nome not nempned in worschupe,
Bute ofte-siþes in Idelschupe.
In holi-dayes haue I wrouht,
To holychurche eode I nouht.
ffadur and Modur worschupet haue not I,
But aȝeyn hem don vnboxumly.
Men haue I slawen wiþ my wille,
And Bakbited hem boþe loude and stille.
Wiþ wrong ichaue had muche þing,
Boþe of ȝifte and of stelyng.
Boren ichaue fals witnesse
And seldene i-don Rihtwysnesse.
In lecherie haue I sunged ille
Ofte-siþes aȝeynes skille.
I-chaue coueyted more þen me hihte
Mi neihȝebores god wiþ vnrihte,
His wyf, his seruaunt, his oþur þing.
ffor-þi, Almihti heuene-kyng,
ffor-ȝif me now, and alle men
Þat haue broken þi comaundemens ten.

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

Erliche in þe morwenyng : Ihesu þe Iewes gunne take,
His frendes and his diciples : Hedden him sone forsake;
Þei blyndfelden him and Boffeteden : And al niht heold him wake:
And al soffrede swete Ihesu : ffor monkunne sake
þat sorwe.
How may I for-ȝete Ihesu : At Euen or at Mor[w]e?
Crist, honoured mote þou be,
Þat bouhtest al þe world on tre!
Lord Ihesu, godus sone : Þat synful mon wolt not tyne,

Bi-twenen vr soules and þi dom : Puttest þe in hard pyne:
Þi Cros, þi Deþ now and euere : And at vre endyng-tyme
Graunte liuynde men : Grace and Merci þyne;
To dede, reste and pardoun;
To Churche, pes, loue in londe; : To sunful, contricioun.
Cristes passion, heuene kyng,
Bring us to blisse þat is wiþ-outen endyng.

At prime crist þe Iewes : Bi-fore Pilat gunne drawe,
ffalslich þei him a-cuiseden : Wiþ mony a wikked sawe;
Þei spitteden in his feire face : Þe men wiþ-outen lawe,
Ne wolde þei neuere blinne : Til þei hedde him slawe.
Ihesu, my dere lemmon,
Blo for-bled was þi bodi : Þi brihte Rode was al won.
Crist, honoured mote þou beo,
Þat bouȝtest al þe world on treo.
Lord Ihesu, godes sone : Þat sunful mon wolt not tyne,
Bi-twenen vr soules and þi dom : Puttest þe in hard pyne:

Þi Cros, þi deþ nou and euere : And at vre endyng-tyme
Graunte liuinde men : Grace and merci þyne;
To dede, reste and pardoun;
To Churche, pes, loue in londe : To sunful, contricioun.
Cristes passion, heuene kyng,
Bring us to blisse þat is wiþ-outen endyng.

At vndurne to do Ihesu on cros : loude gunne þei crie,
And beoten him naked wiþ scourges : Whil þei mihte drie,
And crouned him wiþ þornes : Þe blod ron in to his eiȝe;
And siþen maden him bere þe cros : To þe Mount of Caluarie
On his bac for-bete.
ffor drede of deþ men mihte seo : Þe blod þat he gon swete.
Crist, honoured mote þou be,
Þat bouȝtest al þe world on tre.
Lord Ihesu, godus sone : Þat sunful mon wolt not tyne,
Bitwenen vre soules and þy dom : Puttest þe in hard pyne:
Þi Cros, þi deþ now and euere : And at vre endynge-tyme
Graunte lyuinde men : Grace and Merci þyne,
To þe dede, reste and pardoun;
To churche, pes, loue in londe : To sunful, contricioun.
Cristes passion, heuene kyng,
Bring us to blisse þat is wiþ-outen endyng.

At Midday Ihesu hondes : Þei nayleden to þe Rode,
Bi-twene twey þeues : Þei him hengen as wode;
Þei ȝeuen him galle and Eysel : Ihesu þat blisful fode.
Serewful were boþe Marie an Ion : Þer þei bi him stode,
As folk þat were mad.
Whose þenkeþ on Marie serwe : May he neuere be glad.
Crist, honoured mote þou beo,
Þat bouhtest al þe world on treo.
Lord Ihesu, godes sone : Þat sunful mon wolt not tyne,
Bi-twenen vr soules and þi dom : Puttest þe in hard pyne;
Þi cros, þi deþ nou and euere : And at vr endyng-tyme
Graunte liuinde men : Grace and Merci þyne,
To þe dede, reste and pardoun;
To churche, pes, loue in londe : To sunful, contricioun.
Cristes passion, heuene kyng,
Bring us to blisse þat is wiþ-outen endyng.

At Non þer þurlede Ihesus herte : Longius, a Blynd kniht;
He wupte his Eiȝen wiþ his blod : Þorwh þat he hedde his siht.
Þe eorþe quok, þe stones clouen : Þe sonne les his liht,
Þe dede a-risen of heore graues : In tokene of godus miht
Þat us on Rode bouhte.
Þe soules þat weren in helle : Ihesus sone out brouhte.
Crist, honoured mote þou be,
Þat bouȝtest al þe world on tre.
Lord Ihesu, godus sone : Þat sunful mon wolt not tyne,
Bi-twene vr soules and þy dom : Puttest þe in hard pyne:
Þi cros, þi deþ nou and euere : And at vr endyng-tyme
Graunte liuynde men : Grace and Merci þyne;
To þe dede, reste and pardoun;
To churche, pes, loue in londe : To sunful, contricioun.
Cristes passion, heuene kyng,
Bring us to blisse þat is wiþ-outen endyng.

At Euensong Ihesus was taken : Doun of Rode-treo.
Marie bi-heold hire deore sone : ffor wepyng miht heo not seo;

“A, sone,” heo seide, “wiþ þe fader : of heuene is þi pouste,
But þou schalt rise from deþ to lyue : As þou er seidest me,
Boþe God and Mon;
Þorwh þat deþ is blisse ibouȝt : Þat loren was þorwh Sathan.”
Crist, honoured mote þou beo,
Þat bouhtest al þe world on treo.
Lord Ihesu, godus sone : Þat sunful mon wolt not tyne,
Bi-twene vr soules and þi dom : Puttest þe in hard pyne:
Þi Cros, þi deþ now and euere : And at vre endyng-tyme
Graunte liuinde men : Grace and Merci þyne,
To dede, reste and pardoun;
To churche, pes, loue in londe : To sunful, Contrissioun.
Cristes passion, heuene kyng,
Bring us to blisse þat is wiþ-outen endyng.

At Complin Crist was enoynt : And buried in a ston.
Pilat bad his frendes : Þer scholde leue non;
He sette knihtes him to kepen : Þat he a-wey nere don:
And ȝut he ros to lyue : ffor hem euerichon
Of þo,
And schewede him to þe Maudeleyn : To peter and mony mo.

Crist, honoured mote þou beo,
Þat bouhtest al þe world on treo.
Lord Ihesu, Godus sone : Þat synful mon wolt not tyne,
Bi-twenen vr soules and þy dom : Puttest þe in hard pyne:
Þi Cros, þi deþ nou and euere : And at vr endyng-tyme
Graunte liuinde men : Grace and Merci þyne,
To dede, reste and pardoun;
To Churche, pes, loue in londe : To synful, Contricioun.
Cristes passion, heuene kyng,
Bring us to blisse þat is wiþ-outen endyng.

Amen.—

Þe Pope Ion haþ graunted : A ful feir pardoun
To alle þat siggen þis Matyns : Wiþ good deuocioun:
A ȝer in purgatorie : Of Remissioun,
So þat heo ben clene i-schriuen : Wiþ verrey Contricioun,
Þorwh Grace.
God sende us lyues fode : And in heuene a place.

AMEN.

[XX. Ueni Creator Spiritus, englisht.]

Cum, lord vr makere, Holigost,
Þe þouhtes of þyne forte sene;
Þe hertes þat þou þi schaftus wost,
fful hem of þi grace by-dene.

Clept art þou cumfort, and euer schalt be,
And ȝift of god þat al good sent,
Quik welle, ffuir, and Charite,
And also gostly Oynement.

Þou art in ȝifte seuenfold,
Godus riht hond ffinger art þou;
As us bi-het ffader al-wold,
Richesse of word þou ȝiuest inouh.

Lord, in vr wittes tend þi liht,
And in vr hertes þi loue sende;
Vr bodi feblenesse þorwh þi miht
Strengþe hit euere wiþ-outen ende.

Put fer from us þe fend, ur fo,
And send us soþfast pees anon,
Þat we þorwh þe þat laft (!) us so
Blenchen sunnes euerichon.

Of þe ffadur ȝif us witing,
And of þe Sone knowyng also,
Siker be-leeue and riht tokenyng
Þat þou art god of boþe two.

Holi hertes sum-tyme was
Þou fuldest, lord, þorwh grace þyne:
ffor-ȝif now gultus and trespas,
And ȝif us reste in alle tyme.

ffader and Sone and Holigost be
Worschiped as þei mowe beo most,
And send us schrift for his pite,
Þe ȝiftus of þe holygost.

Amen.

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

Heyl Mayden ouer Maydenes vchon,
Modur wiþ-outen pere,
Wiþ-outen knowyng of Mon
A worþi chyld þow beere:
Mak vs vr lordus lawes kepe
And ofte to haue in mende,

In to kyngdom of Ioye to lepe,
Beo blessed wiþ-outen ende.

Heil þe entrayles o whom
Brouhten forþ a sone
At whos deþ boþe alle and som
ffolk grucche bi-gone:
Heore deuoute voices al-way
Þat sechen þe here in grounde;
Euel causes remoue a-way
Þat vs here han I-founde.

Heil, Mayden and Mirour
Of holy heuenly lyuyng,
Of whos wombe wiþ honour
Is boren a child, vr kyng,
Þat hedde compassion of þe ded,
Wiþ his dedliche slepyng
Wiþ deþ [deþ] he termyned,
Vr gult awey wassching.

Heil douhtur of þe sone,
Modur of þe getere,
Hauyng child aȝeynes old wone
Oþur elles comuyn manere:

Calle us aȝeyn in to þat staat
Þat is of better lyuyng,
ffor us haþ holden longe al maat
Vanyte of erryng.

Heil þou, buggyng us aȝeyn
Out of Egyptes cley,
In vices wounden to helpe, certeyn,
Þou art redi al-wey:
Þou defendyng us wel riht
Wiþ þe scheld of wil,
Vs Corouned in blisse briht
Set sikerly wiþ skil.

Heil, louelich ȝate of lyf,
Hele of þe forþinkyng:
Bi-hold þe wrecchednesse so rif
Of soule þat is serwyng;
Þat in wraþþe I ne feel
Þe vois of repreyuing,
Clanse me from sunnes eueridel
And eke from tormentyng.

Heil Modur, þou onliche
Hed art of vr hope:

Þorw þi merites specialiche
Haue merci on me mope,
Þat from alle þe liknesse
Of þis lyuyng heer
I may haue wiþ fulnesse
Þe siht of god so cler.

Heil kynges Mayden, swete þing,
Somme of ioyes I calle,
Bi whom þe wondurful kyng,
Lord þat is ouer alle,
Calleþ us a-ȝeyn wiþ-oute deseruyng
In to his sones hope,
Þat aren ofte put in to flemyng,
In vices whon we ben crope.

Heil feir trone of grace,
Modur of Ihesu crist,
Þat to conceyue in þi space
Onliche Mayden deseruedist:
I schal knowleche to þat lord
Þat þou so dust bi-gete,
Þat þou þe name in dede ne word
Of Mayden and Moder ne lete.

Heil Mayden ouer oþur met,
Beo whom is mad passyng
Vppon on of hulles gret
In whuch is don offring,
Þe weþer holden wiþ a Brer,
Whuche was a-ȝeyn biggyng
Of þe wastour þat was in wer,
fforȝiuenes þat com askyng.

Heil Modur of vr lord,
Ȝit I sey Modur heil!
Cristes ȝok in dede and word
To bere mak me not fayl;
Þat I of þe eiȝteþe blisse
Beo parciner me borwe,
To beo diliuered and euer misse
Vr furste modur sorwe.

Heil Mayden feir of face,
Worschiped wiþ nome of Moder;
So plentiuous I-douwed wiþ grace
Was þer neuer non oþer:
Purge þe scharpnesse of vr þouht,
So þat hit beo sped,
And þat hit to longe ne slepe nouht
In slep of sunful ded.

Heil temple of grace most,
Temple of Sauntite,
Temple of þe holygost,
Trone of þe Maieste:
Saue me, be grace me saue,
I preye þe nou, freliche,
Þat I mowe þe kyngdom haue
Wiþ seintes þat ben godliche.

Heil tabernacle Cleer
Of kyng strong in honde,
Beo whom crist is maad parciner
Of vre lot her in londe,
Þat brak þe bondes and þe loke
Of helle foule ȝates,
Called us fro deþ þer we weore stoke,
Victor of deþ algates.

Heil, of grace þou art trone
Arayed for a kyng,
Of whom sprong forþ for us vchone
An Auoket lyking:
Crist nou beo vr heritage,
Þat of þe is boren,
And kepe his seruauns in alle age,
Þat þei beo not for-loren.

Heil of Sonne þe Cite,
In to whuche he entrid
Kyng of kynges, lord of pite,
þe whuche þe coueyted.
Beo þe now he us here,
Þulke þat he haþ oned;
And þat he fulle hem wiþ his chere
Þat he þrustyng be-mened.

Heil of Maydenes Mayden clene,
Of whom a Mene of diuis
Com to vs wiþ-outen wene,
Victor of olde Enemys:
Vr Enemys he al to-tere,
ffihtere þat is so strong,
And beo grace beo he ȝiuere
Of Ioye þat lasteþ long.

Heil kynges sone (!) briht,
Of whom goþ forþ vche while
Þe verrey sonnes bem liht,
Þat huydeþ al þe gyle

Of vr fon, and queyntises most,
Þat drawen vs in to veyn;
Seching þe scheep þat was lost
To bringe to folde a-ȝeyn.

Heil ful of grace, eke
Speciouse at al,
Mayden wys and þerto Meke,
Wiþ-outen fulþe gret or smal:
In alle maner vr sacrifice
Deuouteliche take þou now,
Ordeyne vr Maners on þi wyse,
Desires and eke a-vow.

Heil hele of monkynde,
Worþiful to beo gret,
Þou bar hele vs alle helynde,
Sauncȝ pere þou art set.
Al vr hope and eke vr blis
In hele beo vs be-tid;
Þerof to haue part wiþ-outen mis
We leeue to beo blessed.

Heil whos wombe sikerly
Brouht forþ a worm þat dred,

Þat vnder-bityng priuely
Þe Iuy of Ione dried;
Whon þe lettre of þe laue
Þat al þing in clos keped,
Aperteliche wiþ open sawe
To vs forsoþe he schewed.

Heil þou ȝerde of Iesse,
Wiþ giftus of grace
Maad riche wiþ plente;
Of correccioun in vche place
Þou art staf, and eke ȝerde
Of consolacioun,
Þorwh whuche crist, þat is nouȝt ferde,
Vs sette in pasture boun.

Heil lond of blis,
Eorþe nouht hered,
Wiþ þe deuh of grace i-wis
ffulliche for euer wered,
Beryng fruit of whos sauour
Reformed was verreyliche
Olde Adames sone, þe furste synnour,
Þat holden was wrecchedliche.

Heil on whos blisse certeyn
Alle crien and ben not feynt,
Be whuche gon vp a-ȝeyn
In depnesse þat weoren dreynt:
Þorwh þe, ladi of delyt,
Heo þat ben conuerted ones
Torn þenne a-ȝein not to vomyt,
As hound þat haþ eten bones.

Heil Modur, bi-hold þou
Defautes of þe peple,
Modres affeccion schewh þou now
Þi sones þat ben feble;
Ordeyn þou vr maners so,
Weyuyng inparfyt þing,
Þat vr fot mowe þen go
Streiht forþ wiþ-outen lettyng.

Heil modur of þat lord al on
Þat his men doþ defende,
Þat wiþ þre hundred ouercom
Gret cumpaignies and schende:
I preye þe, ladi, vs bi-holde
Wiþ þyn eȝen clere,
Derknesses fer fro us folde
And kepe vr þouhtes here.

Heil Mayden of a lord,
Modur saunȝ tecche I-þriue,
Of whos wombe þorwh Godus word
fflesch to god was ȝiue;
Þat flesch dilyuered flessche,
Þat flesch boren was to dye,
Þat flesch refloured þat was nessche,
Of deþ þat hedde Maystrie.

Heil be whom godus sone, i-wis,
Breþeren him wolde purchase,
To beo clept godus sones of blis
Be rihte In vche place.
Goþ nou sones deuoutelye
Þat he haþ called him to,
Offreþ þe lombes of Innocensye,
ffor he comaundet so.

Heil tabernacle of crist
Halewed worþily,
Of alle Modrus i-wist
To haue þe pris only:
Mak us redi to vr vs
Þe olde sacke verreyly
Þat for ur woundes as refus
Was wounded wilfully.

Heil vr Ioye of worþinesse,
And vr strengþe þerto,
Whos noble swetnesse
Is muchel and gret also:
In þe beo myn hope i-set
Sadly, in certeyn,
ffor in þin heriing nou I swet
ffreoliche and nouȝt in veyn.

Heil of whos wombe verrey
God is of goddus alle
I-maad mon, to don a-wey
Þe þornes of synne and falle.
A, blessed is þat wombe so sad!
And þei ben blessed also
Þat god haþ partyng-felawes maad,
To dwelle wiþ him euer-mo!

Heil bi whom God called a-ȝeyn
Hem þat weoren out cast,
Þat from his ffadur seete certeyn
Went forþ in gret hast,
Leche, þat monkynde þat was mad
Parfyt, he fonde infecte,
Causes of sikenes þen he forbad
And eke þerof þe efecte.

Heil Modur bringinge forþ
Þe feireste fruit i-founde,
Þe touche of whuche was so muche worþ
Þat Eues curs was vnbounde,
Þe whuche trespaced folilyche,
Þat was forboden touchyng,
Þe strok of veniaunce sikerliche
Laft to hem þat were comyng.

Heil beo [whom] þe lord of liht
A scheld tok priuely,
And in his hond I-streyht ariht
Put of his enemy;
Þat of his owne propre cheld (!),
Mengyng þerwiþ cley,
As moni men þo bi-heold,
Maad a blynt mon se al-wey.

Heil temple of grace,
Trone of þe godhed,
Plenteuous ryuer in vche place,
And eke hous of freohed:
Beo þe, hope is ȝolde aȝeyn
To hem þat hedde dispeir:

Gouerne þe Anker in certeyn
Of vr floteryng schip in Eir!

Heil þat hast non lyk to þe,
Wiþ vuel neuer ouer-come,
Of þreo maner of dignite
Wiþ title maad feir and nome:
Maiden and Modur þou art told,
Disseuered ioy[n]e[st] þou goodlye;
Þou art boþe two, as we be-hold—
Vs techeþ vr feiþ at eȝe.

Heil wiþ deuh I-mad feir
Of þe holigost, parde,
Þou beryng child wiþ-outen leir
Kepst flour of chastite:
Mak þou þat he us not missey,
Þe Iuge, in no woodnesse,
Þat he bouht wiþ his blood verrey
ffrom deþ, boþe More and lesse.

Heil of whos sone deuoutely
A psalm is songe wiþ cure,
And of his habit ful sotily
In whuche is suche figure

Whos, laft þis world outerly,
Dilyteþ him to take heed
Wiþ steppes of good þouht holy
To suwen crist, vr hed.

Heil tabernacle of kyng
In-pollute, wondur clen;
Þorwh þe þe lord of alle þing
Þat hedden non help leosed men:
Help þorwh þi worþinesse
Him þat is woundun al-wey
In þe lake of wrecchednesse
And in þe fulþe of cley.

Heil of Sonne þe cite
Þat dauid reised on ende,
Of whom þe sonne of riht, wuste
Wiþ cloude, hit gan forþ wende;
To þe causes of pore and meke
ffrom heuene heede he tok
And made him lyk to þe seke
And sek folk nouht forsok.

Heil from whom gon ay forþ
Riueers of plente rif,

Of whom floweþ of gret worþ
Þe watres of welle of lyf.
Modur, ich aske nou þi merci:
Bi fulþes haue I gon;
Aftur þat welle mak me þursti
Oftur þen I haue don.

Heil from whos chaumbre her
A Iuge is forþ passet
Þat determineþ vr causes cler
And punisscheþ hem þat trespasseþ;
Beo whom of vr þouht þe eȝe,
Wiþ derknes þat is ouer-fet,
Mow lerne þenne wiþ liht in hyȝe
His steppes forte set.

Heil whos worþi sone
Bringeþ forþ neodful, certeyn,
And proude puiteþ in tribulacione
Þat risen vs aȝeyn.
Þat al vr þouhtes in to him
He dresse, I þe preye,
And refreyn of tempest grim
Þe sturinges in þis weye.

Heil be whom biȝetere
A word sum tyme forþ sende,
Word þat to men here
Him-self tempred and bende;
Þe whuche of god and of man
Endited feire þe bonde,
And for us alle diede þan
And deþ put out of londe.

Heil of þat lord þe tabernacle
Þat is of vertue al-way,
In whom he tok wiþ-oute obstacle
Of vr flesch þe Clay,
To Bugge aȝein þe wrecched wiht
Þat non hope felede;
Of þe strong he brak in fiht
Þe bouwe and eke þe schelde.

Heil whos sone so gent
Ouer folk regneþ, parfey;
To whos name men verrey[me]nt
Syngyng wiþ hondes pley.
Make we nou Ioye wiþ al vr list,
Vr þouhtes an heiȝ resynge
To vr noble hed crist,
To him euer cleuynge.

Heil Maiden bringinge forþ wiþ mood
Þe euerlastinge kyng,
Þe whuche is vre god so good,
God wiþ-outen endyng;
Þat for us whon he dude dye,
Al to-spoyled helle,
To his ffadur trone on hiȝe
To make us stye to dwelle.

Heil vr Ioye þat art certeyn,
And eke hope of ur hele,
Bi whom to blynde is ȝolde aȝeyn
Siht, and word to doumbe at mele:
To us naked in þis place
Of cloþes of innocencie,
We preye þe gete us nou grace
And staat of vertues hyȝe.

Heil summe of honour,
Of heleful ioyes i calle,
Þou brouhtust forþ vr saueour,
God of goddus alle,
Þat on wrecches hedde Merci
And wox heore felawe anon,
Wasschynge heore gultus witerli
And tok vr peynes him on.

Heil Maiden Mylde and meke,
On Monkuynde haue Merci,
Eueles of soules þat beo seke
Bi-hold þou witerly;
Of wrecches haue Merci verrey
And eke Compassioun,
Causes of vueles doynge a-wey
To hele þouhtes beo boun.

Heil vessel of Clannesse
Holdyng Oygnement I-nouh,
Of þe olde wrecchednesse
Holdyng doun sourdouh,
Þe mouinges þat ben troublus
Of vr herte refreinynge,
Ȝiuinge of þi grace to vs
Euer-more echynge.

Heil þat euer art present
Vr kuynde forte defende:
Here ur speche wiþ good entent
Þat we forþ to þe sende:
Þou þat wost no corrupcioun,
ffrom us do hit a-wey,
To seke þouhtus loke þou beo boun
Medicyn to do verrey.

Heil whos sone glorious,
To his ffadur euene,
Haþ comformed him to us
I-maad of dedly steuene:
Nou beo we tauht spiritualy
Beo experience Real,
Þat in his nome ful sikerly
Saued we ben from eueles alle.

Heil þou holy sacrarie,
Vr askynges euer heryng,
Vr wordus þou take deuoutly
Al-wei of vre preying;
Vs also þat of þi grace
Wiþ ȝiftus maade riche ariht,
Of pees translate to þe place
Of heueneliche siht.

Heil Modur of forȝifnesse,
Mihti to haue merci:
Make us be founde þorwh þi godnesse
Among þi seruauns herti;
And whon þe wynewyng schal be-ginne
To parte euel from good,

Tempre þou þen to us wiþ þi ginne
Of wraþþe þe Iewes mod.

Heil, for þou art of monkynde
An Aduoket mihti:
Haue merci, and haue in mynde
Of wrecches þou haue merci;
We þat syngen þat bi þe
Þat iuged is to paye,
We asken alle vnbounde to be,
To pay þat asked is ayȝe.

Heil þou þat rihtwysnesse
Hast i-spoken al-way,
Þorwh whos help þe queyntenesse
Of þe fend is lutled ay;
Þat þe peple holpen beo bi þe,
ffeele þei hit in certeyn,
Þat to þe furste liberte
Þei beo restored a-ȝeyn.

Heil modur þat nost sikerliche
Trespas don abedde,
To whom þe peple bisiliche
Crieþ and longe haþ gredde:

Lyuere vs from eueles euerichon,
Whuche from good maner
Vs to wiþ-drawe is bisy mon
Þe drauht of vices her.

Heil beo whom þe godhed
In vr flesch was laced,
So Idumeam he visyted
To mende þat hedde trespaced:
To þe, Modur of worschipe,
Syngeþ peple þat cristen is,
Þat to Godus felaschipe
Þey mowe beo ioyned in blis.

Heil, þou hast sent forþ liht
In place most principal,
Liht euer schynynge briht
Wiþ open bem ouer-al:
Kep us from vuel þat us haþ souht,
Whil þat we dwellen here,
Ȝiuynge to vre derke þouht
Verrey liht and clere.

Heil beo whom þe godhed
Went forþ a-pilgrimage

And þe flemed visyted,
Huled wiþ fflesch of age:
Þorwh þe vr soules to God, ladi,
Soget beo þei and meke,
To þonke vr lord ful hertily
Ay to beo bisy eke.

Heil, þou art code of lyf,
And Maydens eke lanterne;
Whom bi-foren oþur riche and rif
Haþ maad þe grace of heuene:
Help þi sones of þi godnesse
As Modur of pite,
ffullyng hem of þi fatnesse
Of inward saunctite.

Heil Mayden, him forþ bringynge
Be whom al þei dude fayle
Þat hedden tonges of scharpynge
As swerd þat kerueþ Mayle;
Þei maden panters for oþur men
And fullen in to þe same;
Of heor oune defaute þen
To vs þe profyt came.

Heil þorwh whom godhed i-wis
Of vre flesch tok cloþinge,
fforte helen us of seknis
Þorwh his grace helpynge.
Þat i mou, Ioynge, prei i þe,
An hundredfold of encrece and hete,
Haue plentiuouse charite
Of þe valeye of whete.

Heil Mayden, bringyng forþ
Of folk þe helþe, parde,
Of whos herying sounen in worþ
Heuene, Erþe and Séé,
Him þat al monkynde
Wolde en-haunce wel hiȝe,
And so for us eke dyinge
Put out deþes eiȝe.

Heil þorwh whom God haþ muynde
On wrecches and haþ merci,
Þorwh whom al Monkynde
Clansed is þat was gulti:
Beo þe al vr wrecchednis
So beo releued a-wey
Þat in to þe ende of ioye and blis
hit beo chaunged verrey.

Heil of whom boren was her
He þat deþ ouercom,
God of þe vr parciner
Was maad and vre lot nom.
He þat wrecches wiþ worschip
Lyuered fro ȝates of helle,
Restore vs to þe felaschip
Wiþ heuenlich folk to dwelle.

Heil þou sterre schynyng briht,
Of vr hele þou art sterre;
Sterre from whom went forþ riht
Þe Sonne-Beem, our herre:
Þe derknesses of vr þouht
Make þou a-wey to fle;
Þat we be swolewed, suffre þou nouht,
Wiþ tempestes of þe séé.

Heil valeye of humilite,
In whom whon þer doun cam
Verrey God þat tok of þe
Þe seed of Abraham,
On such maner he ȝaf helpyng[g]
To wrecches þat weoren in wer,
Þe panters al to-brekyng
Þat vre Enemy made heer.

Heil ȝate of lyf wiþ honour,
Of vertues þou art spice,
Bringyng forþ þe protectour
To helples þorw vice;
Þou art refuyt to eueri age,
Hope of hele i-founde,
Þorwh whom now of bondage
Þe harde ȝok is vnbounde.

Heil, of heuene þou art reyn,
And fleos wiþ dewh i-wet,
Cloþing of purpre þou art, certeyn,
To þat kyng arayed and met,
Þat him-self to vr kuynde
Schewed him so Aduoket,
Of alle stryues made an ende,
In blisse vs forte set.

Heil [to] whos sone gent
Þreo kynges fro þe Est
Comen feire wiþ heore present,
A sterre hem ladde best;
So þe ioynture of þe fey
Twiȝen þen onynge,
God þe pore lyuered awey
ffrom þe mihti nuwynge.

Heil Mayden, for þou him beer
Þat al þe world doþ keuere;
Þat for vs alle dyȝinge heer
deþ destruyed for euere;
Þe rihte wey a-rayed so
to steppus of vr þouhte,
ffor we schulde on nowyse go
As men þat no-þing rouhte.

Heil whos sone has wrouht
Al vr hele sponnewe,
Þat in þe myddes of eorþe vs souht
To meoue us to vertue.
Remuwe þou, Modur gentil,
Bondage from vr graunge,
Þat we mowen vre exil
Wiþ Ioye of heuene chaunge.

Heil þorwh whos grace may haue
fforȝiuenes verreyliche
He þat þe holy feiþ wol saue
And knowleche hit mekeliche:
Þorwh þi merit, mayden dere,
To vs beo hit iȝiue
Þat hit beo refoormed here
Þat lost was þorwh Eue.

Heil þorwh whom þe lord of miht
Was stured wiþ pite,
And schewed him meke to monnes siht
And knowen was in Iudee:
Mak þou vs of spirit strong,
Sturynges of flesche brekyng,
Þat we ben alle wiþ herte and tong
Deuout to þe seruyng.

Heil modur of grace i calle þe þen,
Schinyng as precious stones,
Modur þorwh whom of þe pore men
Þe vois is herd at ones:
To vs þi sone of worþinesse
In þis lyf hol and some
Beo he boþe wey and soþfastnesse
ffor lyf þat is to come.

Heil, þou noble lond of blis
Whete wel feir borionyng,
To mennes soules þou ȝiuest i-wis
Of lyf þe norisschyng,
Þat on þe hornes of þe Croys
Iewes helden wiþ-outen les;

Dyȝinge he ȝaf wiþ-outen noys
An hundred-fold encrees.

Heil from whom went forþ þo
Þe ffadur of fadurles,
Whos temple defouled also
Þe peple of corsudnes:
Ioyne þi seruauns euerichon
To holi cumpaygnye;
Þi sones take in possession
Þat peyned ben heer to dye.

Heil, þou art þe liht of feiþ,
And vr heȝe hope, parde,
And eke of Charite, men seiþ,
Þe bond. Þerfore þorwh þe
Of soþnesse to us þe weye
Was schewed. we preye þe now,
Conuerte us, þat wiþ vr eiȝe
Seo vueles we ne mow.

Heil whos sone fyn
Wiþ his mihti honde
ffrom Egiptus cofyn
Diliuered us her in londe,
After þat vs refetyng
Wiþ þe ter of whete,
And of þe ston hony flowyng
ffulled vs at mete.

Heil, whos deore sone stod
In þe Synagoge of goddes
And iuged þer wiþ stille mood
Princis lyuynge as dogges;
And foode ȝaf to þe faderles,
And hope eke to neodi;
Vs to his sones he dude purches
In to hope on hyȝ.

Heil þorwh whom, as we haue mynde,
To us is maad nou lyke
God, þat iuge is of monkynde,
Suffring and rihtful eke:
Purge þou vr concience,
And ordeyne vre delyt,
Þat us greue nouȝt vre offence
Of wrecches in-parfyt.

Heil tabernacle cler
Maade of þe godhed,
In whom crist saued þe world her
ffrom synne and wrecchedhed:
Þe bond, we preye þe, vnbynde
Of vre schrewednesse,

And ȝif us place to vre dwellynge:
Þat is of newe clernesse.

Heil noble eorþe of grace
Þorwh ȝiftus wel arrayed,
To bringe forþ fruyt in luytel space
Of newe blessyng assayed:
Þou schalt make al vre desyr
In godnesse to be stede;
Of al vuel quenche þou þe fyr
And eke of wikkedhede.

Heil þou cler myrour of lyf,
Of Maydens þou art queene,
Whom grace of heuene ouer-al ful ryf
Schynyng schewed schene:
Beende þyn eres bisyliche
To pore mennes preyere,
Þe whuche ben wrapped wrecchedliche
In fulþe and serwe in-feere.

Heil cite of god and man,
Of whuche þe foundement

Buylded þe Samaritan,
Þat us vppon his iument
Sette þat br[o]uȝt was neih [of] dawe,
And ȝaf us vnement,
Eching to hem þat lyuen beo lawe,
Of grace help verrement.

Heil Modur of [þe] lord and kyng,
Þat hope art of vr hele,
Þe whuche brac in his dyȝing
Of bondage ȝokkes fele:
Help us nou wiþ þi preying—
We ben in ful gret age;
In to heuene vs up liftyng
Þorwh vertus, stage vp stage.

Heil of Monkynde ende makyng
Of alle serwe and stryf,
Þorwh whom disposet haþ vr kyng
Þe Testament of lyf:
Þis folk þat in þyn herying
Heer trauayleþ day bi day,
Mak þat þei haue no dredyng
Whon Iuge schal come verray.

Heil, for þou art help ful good
To hem þat han non hope;
Þou a-batest þe grete flood,
In tempest whon we ben lope:
To þat hauene þou vs brynge
Þat ay desyre schulde we,
In to þe siht vs offringe
Of þe heiȝe Trinite.

Heil in whom word made flesch
Dwelleþ, þat haþ mournyng
Of fallyng of Monkynde so nesch,
fforboden a treo touchyng;
Þat bouhte mon fro pyne of hel,
Þat þer schulde haue bi stoke;
Wiþ þe treo of lyf he heled wel
Þe vessel þat was broke.

Heil þorwh whom to god mekeliche
Men make confession,
And aftur þat mercifuliche
Graunteþ us remission:
Modur, þorwh þi preyere
Beo we so holpen a-way,
Þat wiþ crist and þe i-fere
Ioye we mowe haue ay.

Heil þorwh whom God cloþing
Of feirnesse tok at morwe,
Of Eue, vr modur, for us dying
He endet al þe sorwe,
Callynge aȝein vs to honour
Of vr furst springyng forþ,
And us sette, soffring hard schour,
In staat muche more worþ.

Heil modur of þe lord
Of Merci þat is parfyt:
Do wey my synnes of dedes and word,
And ȝif me good spirit,
Þat I may stonde wiþ cher gladyng
To-fore þe trone of blis,
Whon god schal come at þe endyng
To venge dedes mis.

Heil modur meke wiþ-oute debat,
Heil modur of Ihesu crist,
Þorwh whom to us þe Sabat
Is ȝiuen of verrey rist;
He hit is þat lyuereþ vs
In þe ȝeer of Iubilee:
Þerfore vchon as men ioyus
To him nou synge we.

Heil þorwh whom to vr lord
Men han lernd to synge
A newe song wiþ vois and word
Of heleþe him hery[i]nge,
Þat he wole, whon he comeþ aȝeyn
Þe world forte grete,
His ffadres schep þen in certeyn
To-gedere he wol gete.

Heil whos sone in pouste
Regneþ wiþ-outen ende,
To syke men mad is he
Medicyn, hem to mende;
Þe whuche of monkynde and diuyn
Maade an onynge,
And in his dyȝinge dude termyn
Þe terme of vre fallynge.

Heil þou þat of lecherie
ffeledest neuer no sturyng;
Þorwh þe þe lord of glorie
Maade hele to vr knowyng:
He tok al þing him vppon
Þat was of Monkuynde eke,
fforte helen hem euerichon
Þat in soule weren seke.

Heil þou þe sonne of rihtwysnes
Wiþ clene cloude huledest,
Made trone of grace and goodnes,
Trone of kyng hiȝist:
Vr flok forte defende
We prey þe wake and dawe,
Þat we mowe þriue and us amende
Wiþ ffulnesse of þe lawe.

Heil Modur swete, whos pite
May no mon þenke ne telle;
To seke men is ȝiue þorwh þe
An hele, soþ as gospelle:
Tac þou deuocions of vr þouht,
And of gladnesse tak hede;
Þe ioye euerlastynge forȝete þou nouht
To gete us to vr mede.

Hei[l] Modur child forþ bringynge
Aȝeynes comuyn custome,
Of Maydenhod ȝit stille holdynge
Clannesse wiþ-outen schome:
Of lawe and of þe Iuggement
Þat ilke brennynge hardnesse
Tempre þou wiþ good entent
Of Merci wiþ swetnesse.

Heil þorwh whom of pore men
Voyces heereþ of breþ
Þe sparwe in þe euene soleyn
Þat lyueþ aftur his deþ;
Þat wiþ peynes harde wassching
Þe gultus þat he nouht kneuh,
Þe ȝok of deþ for us dying
He al to-brac and dreuh.

Heil Modur þat aboute by-gon
Wiþ tytle of good blessynge,
Wiþ grace and vertues mony on,
Þorwh ȝiftus of vr kynge:
Resseyue þou vs þorwh þi goodnes
Wiþ plenteuous merci,
Chaungynge ur stat of wrecchednes
In to lyuyng holy.

Heil þou modur of grace,
Modur al-wey blessid [OMITTED]:
Þe Moles of vr crym, we prey,
Do wey, and vre trespas,
Þe Iuges harde biddynges verrey
Tempre þou in luytel spas.

Heil Modur of Sone i-blest,
Þorwh whom dyliuered beone
Þei þat wiþ crymes ben opprest,
And dampned wiþ-outen wene.
To him, þorwh hom euer-mo
Bondes of grace ben maade,
Meke him þou bynde us to,
Wiþ hem þat ben saue and glade.

Heil to whos sone in soþnes
We knowleche wiþ good fey,
Þat of Egiptus derknes
Þorwh him we ben [don] a-wey;
Þe whuche for vs haþ put a swerd
Vppon his syde ful riht,
And so igurt nis nouȝt a-ferd,
ffor vs redi to fiht.

Heil Modur of þe lord of al
Þat þe to-fore oþur haþ chosun;
Þat cumpaygnyes grete and smal
[Of] þe fendes dyȝinge haþ brokun,
And aftur þat helle visityng,
Þe rauynour drof a-way,

And fro þe chekes of þe Rauyning
Dyliuered us, whon he was pray.

Heil vr ioye and al vr blis,
Vr hope and eke vr lyf;
Þorwh whom to seke men heer is
Hele ȝiuen ful rif:
Þe comuyn lot nou of monkynde
Loke þat þou nouȝt forȝete,
And of þe lyf euer-lastinde
Þou bidde us to þe mete.

Heil þorwh whom þe lord of miht
On vs euere haþ merci,
Whos herying in Sone is riht
Reherced eft worþily;
Þe whuche whon he dredde no-þing
Iudas feyned cos,
To him-self he won heriing,
And ioye and blisse to vs.

Heil whos wombe was mad wiþ riht
Castel of feir dwellyng,
In whuche entred þe lord of miht
Toward batayle goyng;

Þat to him-self of wiþþes gret
Smart scourge made and hot
And his enemys so set
Vndur þe stol of his fot.

Heil þorwh whom þe getere
His sone sende bi-fore,
To whom he ȝaf þen powere
Aȝeyn-bugge þulke þat weren lore;
On whom whon þe fend ful fawe
His hond hedde set wiþ bost,
Þulke þat to deþ he hedde i-drawe
Vn-wityngliche he lost.

Heil sterre to vs schewyng
Springynge of verrey Sonne,
Of whom verrey lihtyng
To derknesse is bygunne.
Wheþer hit beo croked oþur vnriht
Þat þou fyndest in vr þouht,
Wiþ sum partye of þi lyht
Mak hit out beo brouht.

Heil Modur of þat childe
Þorwh whom is ȝiuen lyf;

Whos heryinge of children mylde
Preched is wel ryf:
Clannes of lyf wiþ-outen blame
To us be ȝiuen þorwh þe,
Þat of childhode in þe name
Beo-tokned is, parde.

Heil whos sone, whon he sweted
In his gret Agonye,
Þe séé to vs he halewed,
Pharao dreynt is at eiȝe;
He þat was maad preye, haþ preyed
Mihtiliche his preyour,
And so þe olde preyour is venquised
Of a Champioun of honour.

Heil, þou art rule of feiþ, parde,
And of þe pees disciplyn,
Makyng hony þou art þe Beo,
A Vyne eke heldyng out wyn:
Þe chalys of þe wyn so clere
ffulle to þi sones euene;
Out of þis valeye of serwes here
Translate us in to heuene.

Heil þou plentiuous vyn,
Tauht to forþfulle and dele
Wyn þat moysteþ men wyþ-in,
Þat wyn is al vr hele;
Wyn of whuche vr lord made game
And lauhtre eke to Saare,
Whon he bi-hiht to Habrahame
His seed schulde encrece mare.

Heil þorwh whom a Mon is maad
Kyng of heuene, and calle,
On whos heriinge crien ful sad
Of heuene þe voises alle:
Þe to herie bisi men hem make
Wiþ herte deuoutelye,
Til þat out of þis world us take
Aungeles Cumpaygnye.

Heil, þou art vyn of grace,
And vyne of hele al-one;
Þe whuche enuyround in al space
He þat is kernere-stone:
Hegge þou a-boute vr vyn-ȝard
Now in þis valey here,
Þat woodnes us hurte ne make aferd
Of þe wylde best singulere.

Heil þou bringere forþ so gent
Of men þat haue no synne,
In þe [wey] of good comaundement
Whos law es for to rinne.
Out of riht wey þat þei ne go
Þe feet of weyferynde,
Þat vs sore greueþ remoue also,
Þe burþun of hem þat synde.

Heil fro whom passed forþ ful fre
An aduoket mihti,
Þat determyned wiþ humilite
Vr olde dedes gulti;
Þorwh his help wiþ-outen mis
We þat dwellen heer al maate,
Beo we translated in to blis
Of wel better state.

Heil þou kynges Mayden wrouht,
Of þis world þou art liht:
Þe derknes of vr blynde þouht
Put þou a-wey wiþ miht;
Tech us in to þat hul wiþ game
Vr eȝen lufte on alle wyse,
In to whuche steih Abrahame
I-beden do sacrifice.

Heil þou, þat ioye and glad face
To þe world hast told,
Whon þat þou in þe word of grace
Brouht forþ a word ful bold;
Þe whuche whon he us bidde cum schal
To-fore his Mageste,
Of serwhful heryng boþe gret and smal
Vs nouht to drede mak he.

Heil Mayden maade chaumbre briht
Of Duyk þat sit an heih;
Þow out of derknesse of niht
Wrecches ledest wel sleih:
Þe eȝen of vr inward þouht
Lyft vp from slideri þinge,
Þat hit take hede wiþ al þe miht
To lyht euer-lastynge.

Heil Mayden, and Modur eke
Of grace, flowynge as flood,
Þorwh whom is maad boþe softe and meke
Þe noyse of peple wood:
We prey þe, kepe þou strongliche here
Þe feet of [vr] þouhtes longe,
Þat we mowe passe þe Riuere
Of þe watur stronge.

Heil hul ful heih of met
Of holiust beo-holdyng,
In whom vr hope is hollich set
Of vre vp-steihȝing:
ffrom al flescliche lykynge
And eke commocion
Diliuere us, þi sones makynge
So of adopcion.

Heil Modur euer flowyng
Wiþ ful plente of pes;
Þou art maad al counseylyng (!)
Of wrecches wiþ-outen lees:
Bring us to þat hauene hom
Of pees þat we desyre,
And ȝiue us alle ful fredom—
ffor þat is vre best hyre.

Heil kynges hous ful gay,
Þe whuche a kyng haþ buylded
Þat prince is of pees al-way
And ioye to world haþ schewed;
Þe whuche strengore in to þe halle
Entred of þe stronge,

Þe stronge byndyng he tok preies alle
Þat he hedde holden longe.

Heil Modur of þe lord so gent,
Of sones bringere forþ,
Wiþ sones mad feir verrement
Þou art fulliche, and worþ:
Graunt us alle vr lord to drede
Wiþ þouht peisiblement;
Vr weys loke þei ben dressede
To kepe his maundement.

Heil þorwh whom heore strengþes alle
Vr enemys han lost,
Vn-welde aren made and doun ek falle,
ffeble and doumbe of bost:
We preye þe, Mayden, swetliche,
To vr hele tak hede;
Mak vs siker verreyliche
Of þi defence at nede.

Heil þou berere of þe flour,
Of hos swete sauerynge
Tornen to lyf in an hour
Þe dede: take þe criinge

Of þulke þat preyen her to þe,
And make vs bi þat flour
Nouȝt to drede, but glad to bee
Of deþ wiþ good honour.

Heil to whos humilite
Þe kyng so wolde obesch
Þat þe chaumbre he made þe
Of word þat is mad flesch;
Þat him-self offred for vs
And tok vr caytyf dom,
Whon he ȝaf vs ful glorios
Aȝeyn to furste fredom.

Heil ȝerde of Iesse good of pith,
Þorwh whom is be-tyd
Þat to þe seed of Dauid
Sum-tyme þe fader heted:
Þorwh þe þerfore þe tyme of grace
ffolfulled is, serteynly,
ffor þorwh þe in vche place
ffadur of sones hath merci.

Heil, of grace þou art sterre
An oynement droppynge,

Þat, for vr þouhtes schulde not erre,
Makest studefast onynge:
Vs alle on and of on wille
To-gedere wel liuynge,
Mak vs, ladi, come þe tille
And of lyf haue blessynge.

Heil ioye of vs euerichon,
Hope of old hele and newe,
Steying vp to heuene-tron
Be de-grees of vertue:
Euere vs to helpe þou beo aboute,
ffor we han ben outrage;
And eke from vs loke þou schake oute
Þe harde ȝok of bondage.

Heil whos sone, ar he weore bore,
To make ioye him tauhte
Þat schulde prechynge go him beo-fore,
In wombe whon modur him auhte.
Teche vs vices to don a-way
And eke al vuel list,
Þat we atteyne euere and ay
To þe blessed siht of crist.

Heil Mayden, þou bar þat seynt
Þat dilyuered Israel,

And Pharao, suwyng hem, dreynt,
And his peple eueridel.
Worschipeþ God now euerichon,
And knowhlecheþ hertely
Þat he con worche wondres al-on,
ffor he is Almihti.

Heil þorwh whom þe Prince so strong
Ouercom his of Babilon,
And we han taken vp þe song
Of Iubilacion:
Þorwh grace of þe Merci fre
Of þy Moodurhede so swete
Lede vs aȝeyn to þe cuntre
Þat vs alle is by-hete.

Heil Modur deore wiþ honour,
Þat wiþ-outen schame
Maad Modur art of vr saueour,
And þat is þi riht name.
Keep he wel hem þat þe don herye,
Wiþ-inne and eke wiþ-oute,
Þorwh þe þat is remedie
Of vr serwes al-aboute.

Heil whos sone so deore
In pore monnes cloþing,
Beryng flesch among us here
Lyk to vr flesch takyng,
And so queyntelich a-wey put he
Vr Enemyes tricherye,
Whon he him-self soffred to be
Iugged þen forte dye.

Heil Modur of þe Sone,
At whos hard batayle
Deth outurliche was ouercome
And put a-louh saunȝ fayle:
Liuere us from vueles heer in londe,
And þe steppes of vr þyn[kyn]g
Dresse þou, on þe ffadres riht honde
And make þer vre sittyng.

Heil þorwh whom þe godhed is
Clad in flesch of Monkynde,
To bringe aȝeyn to lyf, i-wis,
Þe flemed and put be-hynde:
Vr Orison nou euer-mo
So dressed beo þorw þe,
Þat vr dedes suwynge also
Gete vs lyf of Charite.

Heil from whom forþ goynge
Þe geaunt of hond so strong,
Þat wel a-wakeþ þe slepynge
Of sleep of deþ so long:
Bryng us a-ȝeyn to cumpaygnye
Of felawschipe of heuene,
Þat wiþ hem þat lyuen murie
Vr place beo maad ful euene.

Heil Modur, tak wiþ mekenes
Preyeres þat i out helde,
Þat dreynt am in depnes
Of dunghul, and am vnwelde;
Clanse þe chaunbre of myn herte,
Drawyng from þe grounde
ffulþus þe whuche make me smerte,
Of whuche I ful abounde.

Heil, for þe child of Naȝareþ
Boren was feir of þe,
Þorwh whom, as þe bok seiþ,
Slayen was þe philistéé;
Hope of lyf þer-of takyng
Gulti mon wiþ glad mood,
“Dilyuere me,” wiþ voys criȝying,
“I-blessed beo, vr god.”

100

Heil þou from whom riht forþ went
Kyng of gret and smalle,
Whos kyngdom is verreyment
Kyngdom of worldus alle:
Gouerne and applye aftur þis
Vs to heore cumpaygnye
Of whuche þe heiȝeste ioye is
Euer-lastyng þyng to herye.

Heil, þorwh þe an helper good
Nou to þe peple is maad,
Þe kyng þat seiþ “I am god,
Nouȝt chaungynge, but al sad”;
Þat beo þe steppes of deþ is
Of deþes pursuwere
I-maad þe ȝiuere of blis,
Of freodam defendere.

Heil in whos heryinge
Gret dilyt men haue;
Þorwh hos heleful childynge
We bi-leeuen to beo saue
And [after] þis lyf corouned to be
Wiþ þe palm of blis,
Ȝif to þe lord of al pite
We us conforme as his.

101

Heil Moder wiþ grace Inome,
Worþi worschiped to be,
Þorwh whom enemys ben ouercome
And craft of malyngnite:
To caytiues heer now wiþ good wil
Of Pitéé scheuh þow þe signe,
And vs þen aftur þis exil
To good cuntre resynge.

Heil þorwh whom a-wey is don
Of monkynde oppressure;
Whos heryinges alouwed don sum (!)
Al-Maner creature:
Þe heryinges þat we offren to þe,
Tac good heede hem to take;
In blessedhed þat euer schal be
Riche men to dwelle vs make.

Heil welle of mekenes, certeyn,
Veyne of forȝiuynge,
Þorwh whom to us is ȝiuen aȝeyn
Þe song of lyf to synge:
Of sunnes vnbynd us euerichone,
And of peyne of synne,

102

And to þat place þou lede us sone
Þer Ioye and blisse is Inne.

Heil heriinge of trewe men,
Of holynesse þe clarte;
Vr lordes chaumbre men þe callen,
Trone of þe Maieste:
Pese þou to us þi sone so dere
Wiþ preyeres of pite,
Rewardynge þi seruauns here
Wiþ ȝiftus of liberte.

Heil, þou art þe blisse of heuene,
Of eorþe þe foundement;
Whos wombe is maad wiþ mylde steuene
Conteynyng þat is content.
Of þi grace graunte nou encresynge
To vs euerichon
Þat writen to þi worschipynge
Wiþ god deuocion.

Heil Mayden child beryng gent—
Comuyn maner þer was be-hynde;

103

ffor a Geaunt from þe forþ went
Þat is of double kynde:
On wrecches haue merci wiþ miht,
Help hem from oppressynge,
And translate us in to þe liht
Of blisse þat is comynge.

Heil Mayden, mihti of mood
Meoke mennes preyeres to here:
Þinges þat ben lykyng to god
Wiþ þe knowe we in-feere.
Whon þe Iuge schal come ful grim,
And day of wraþþe and doom,
On þe Iuges riht hond to hym
Comaunde us þenne to cum.

Heil kynnes-wommon of vr kynde,
Vr patrun in vche place,
Of alle wymmen þou art hauynde
Ȝiftus alle of grace:
Wiþ [þi] holy preyer [&] deseruyng
Gete us nou witerly
Þat vr þouht beo not to vuel doyng,
As hit is wont, to redi.

Heil to whos sone so dere
Angeles Cumpaygnye

104

“Sanctus” crien wiþ vois ful clere,
Bisiliche and heihe.
ffrom vices clans vs eueridel;
Þe kyndom eke of heuene
Mak us haue, wiþ seintes to dwel—
Gete us þat wiþ Mylde steuene.

Heil godus Modur! nou at þe last
Tac þou vre heryinge
Þat we offren to þe so fast;
To God vs presentynge
Þorwh þi pitéé, beo þou bysi,
Whon he schal come to dome,
Þat he us gedere for his merci
Wiþ his schep to beo nome.

Heil Mayden clene, God beryng,
Whom Ȝakarie to-foren
Preched, him fulli blessyng,
Of vp-risyng beo horn,
To goode men þat beo-het
To a-rise boþe more and lesse.
Þat he of resun vre feet
Þerto, þow preye, he dresse.

105

Heil whos soule wiþ a word
Wel gladed of Message,
Magnifieþ vr aller lord,
Þerfore meked in ȝong age.
Þorwh þat mekenes þou were mad gret,
God þou beere þerfore;
Of þe world þou art seid and met
Blessed and sely bore.

Heil, to þe temple whos sone is
Presented feir and bolde,
Helþe of folk schewed was i-wis
To Simeon þe Olde;
To pees him lafte he þouhte saunȝfayl,
Wheþer he schulde dye or liue.
To us þat pees aftur vre trauayl
ffor euere beo hit I-ȝiue.

Holy Mayden, tak þou goodly
Of þouht in priuete
Þe wordes þorwh whuche so bisyli
fforȝifnes i aske of þe,
And heer þe word þat i ofte sey,
Þat is þe swete Aue;
Mak me freo, nou I þe prey,
ffrom heui serwe to be.

AMEN.

106

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

Heil Mayde cheef of alle,
Þorw whom þe blessed Mon
Of þe born was In a stalle,
Vs wrecches so visyte con:
Modur, þorw þi worþinesse
He mote vs so releue,
Þat of vre gret wrecchednesse
Þe gult no more vs greue.

Heil Modur In Mariage
Of crist vr lord Ihesu,
Of whom is flit þe heritage
Til vs of gret vertu:
Þat us from hit not twinne
Vre synnes þat we knowe,
Help, ladi wiþ wynne,
Whon wraþþe schal brenne and lowe.

Heil of whom þe sone so dere
ffrom slep of deþes stour
In bodi and soule boþe ifere
He ros wiþ gret honour.

107

His deþ we worschipe nou i-wis,
Vre deþ for hit con struye;
Such lyf he graunte vs
Þat deþ no more vs nuyȝe.

Heil of Crist þe chaumber derne,
Wher-of whon he out ede,
Þe vois of hem þat called ȝerne
He herde wiþ ful gret spede:
Til him-self he so vs Merke,
And schilde vs also,
Þat þorw his lyht from þe derke
To-gedere mote we go.

Heil þe temple of vre feiþ,
Hous of holynesse,
And þe logge, as dauid seiþ,
I-mad of gret hihnesse:
Wiþ his scheld vs schilde mote he
Of his owne good wille,
Wiþ hem vs coroune in his cuntre
Þat blesset ben, from ille.

Heil Modur ful of grace,
Þi grace may I not leyne;
To repentaunt þou getest space,
Of Merci þou art þe veyne:
Of alle þe bondes of vre synne
Vn-bynd vs, from vr peyne,
To þe blisse þat þou art Inne
So mote we atteyne.

108

Heil þorw whom partiner
God is of vre chaunce,
Þat Iuge is rihtwys fer and ner
And vs may wel a-vaunce:
He mote vs torne and calle a-ȝeyn
ffrom þe ȝate of helle,
ffrom Bouwe and swerd, þat, as men seyn,
Of deþ ben deop vesselle.

Heil bi whom, to þe ffader euene,
Crist hym-self maad lesse
Þen þe Angeles þat ben in heuene,
Til vs hym-self con dresse;
And ȝit þe fader put alle þinge
In his sones pouweere,
Whon he schewed his heryinge
Bi hem þat soukynge were.

Heil of syon douhter briht,
Of whom wiþ gret honour
Þe lawe-ȝiuere til vs was diht,
Þe holy sauiour:
Vre enemy mot he al to-drawe,
Þat stronge werreour,
Of God and Mon þat is bi lawe
A skilful Mediatour.

109

Heil þou hul of Rihtwysnesse,
To whom þe wey is caste,
Vre hope in cristes holynesse
Stabliche to faste;
In þi wombe whon he wolde dwelle,
He schewede ful gret loue;
Þe holy temple men miht hit telle
And heuene of God a-boue.

Heil vnknowen to Monnes moon,
Mayden wiþ-outen make;
Whon þe Angel þe grete con,
Vre hele bi-gon to wake:
Þin help and þi swete socour,
Þat we han ofte bi-souht,
Þou graunte, þat in þe sees stour
Þe holy ne fayle nouht.

Heil bi whom þe lord of grace
Vs haþ not for-ȝeten
Ne tornd a-wey his feire face
ffrom vs, neor not forleten:
Myn Eȝe beo cler, þat hit not wepe,
Of my soule so briht,
And neuer-more mote hit slepe
To deþ forte be diht.

Heil whom þei preisen hollich
Alle þat I con nemene,
ffor þou art douwet richelich
Wiþ þe liht of heuene:

110

Vre þouht to þe beo torned so
Þat hit may fele and saye
Þat wrecchednesse from folk is gon
And torned al a-waye.

Heil, þi sone of gret Miracle
Is hul of holy hope,
Of reste he is vr tabernacle,
To schilde vs from reyn-drope:
Do, ladi, þorw þi rihtwysnesse
In him þat we mowe reste
As heyres of his blisfulnesse—
Þat wol be vr beste.

Heil þorw whom to gret vauntage
Crist wolde vs restore,
To hope of vre heritage
Þat was from vs forlore;
ffor he was mad þe offringe
ffor vre synnes fele,
And part was of vre suffrynge,
Part til vs to dele (!).

Heil, wiþ-oute pomp or bost
Þi wombe whon crist com Inne,
Wiþ fuir of þe holigost
Assayet þin herte wiþ gynne,
And þat þou schuldest his Moder beo
fful worþi he þe fonde:
Þorw þe he mote vs al bi-seo
Þat visited vs so in londe.

111

He[i]l to whom þi sone, þe beste,
Heuene bouwed doun lowe,
Whon þe vertu of aller-hexte
Bi-schadewed þe al, I trowe:
In to heuene he mot vp lifte
Vs þat were for-lore,
Þat him-self so wolde schifte
Among þat in eorþe weor bore.

Heil whos wombe þe sauiour,
Kyng of alle, we Rede,
As a Brid out of his bour
Crist him-self out eode,
As þe sonne in Morwtyd grey
Ȝeode out of his tente,
To dresse vs in to Rihte wey,
Þat we be not forschente.

Heil, þat help from holi place
Þou sendest to Monkynde,
Whon þou holy bi godus grace
Conceyuedest in þi Mynde
Him þat was most holy,
Þat is vr sauyour,
In ffeiþ Conceyuedest verreyli
And bar hym wiþ honour.

112

Heil vre gostly hele,
And cause of al vre bliss,
Þat bar þe kyng of wele
Of al þis world I-wis.
Whon þe hed is crouned feire,
Alle þe limes ben fayne—
Of heore worschip þat neuer schal peire,
Þar vs neuer-more playne.

Heil from whom God almiht
Went forþ verrey Mon,
Peyne for vs and gret dispyt
He soffred mony on,
ffor vre woundes delfuly
Woundet was he sore,
His Blood vre gultes clanly
Wusch for euer-more.

Heil whom þe kyng of alle þing
Haþ chose þe to ben his Dame,
And to a folle pasturyng
To his herde wiþ game:
Ȝerde and staf þou art boþe
To hem þat he haþ chose,
And nouȝt hem wante hem-self to loþe,
He ruleþ hem nouȝt to lose.

Heil of blisse þe riche lond,
Þat foundet was bi reson
Bi þe Ioyful kynges hond
Þat to vs com in good seson,

113

He þat þe prince of deþ
Wiþ his deþ ouer-com
And alle from þe harde Breþ
Of deþ he vs out nam.

Heil þi sone þat is so swete
And rihtful of entent,
Þe Outlawes synnes forte bete
On pilgrimage he went;
Til vs of grace certeyne
Lawe-berer was i-kud:
In vs he mote ordeyne
Vre werkes and þouhtes hud.

Heil þat of vr lord of heuene
Þat Auter vmbiȝede,
In þi wombe þou speredest heuene
Hele of god, vre mede,
Of vre synnes clansyng
Þat haþ ful pouwere;
Þat Bisschop him-self is offring
Of þe holy Autere.

Heil modur of [þat] lord so mylde
Þat lihtned vs alle ful schene,
Þou art moder of þat childe
Þat sauede vs alle bi-dene:
Maide, þorw þi worþinesse
And preyeres þat holy be,
Put hem from þe derknesse
Þat sikyng longen to þe.

114

Heil! of clene chastite
Þe worschipe nis not luitel,
ffor Modur and mayde þouh þou be,
Worschipful is þat tytel.
Þe mateer of þi swete bodi
Crist, he tok of þe,
And þouh he died delfuly,
Aȝeyn to lyue ros he.

Heil of vre kuynde, ladi,
Worschipe wiþ-outen ende;
Þi sone in to heuene stih,
Þat is so good and hende,
And on his ffader riht syde
Sit for euere and O:
A Moderes lappe þou open wyde
To hem þat ben in wo.

Heil, of whom þe Morwenyng
Ioyful schon and briht,
Þat wiped awey vre wepyng
On Euen and of niht;
Wiþ þe bodi as a Sekke
Þat is i-Maad of here,
Of paradys he opened þe hekke
To hem þat bouht were.

115

Heil þou kynges feir Cite,
Walled wel a-boute,
Wiþ angeles þat in heuene be
I-kept, wiþ mony a route;
Wiþ riche stones wonderly
Of vertues þou art by-set:
Vre Ioye in þe sikerly
And vre hope ben met.

Heil to whom no-maner synne
Vre lord a-rette con,
Þat ȝaf a burþe of blisse wiþ-inne,
Þe ffruit of Blod and bon;
Herte wiþ-Inne nor bodi wiþ-oute
Of ffulþe hedde no dispit:
Þe woful þornes vs aboute
Þow bruse of foul delyt.

Heil whos soule worþily
In god is fully preysed,
In Blessynde god ful hihly
Þorw whom þou art vp-reiset:
Blesse alle þyne, Maiden dere,
Þi-self also be Blesset,
Þorw whom blessyng is preched here
And from vs not lesset.

Heil of whom he wolde be bore,
Þe kyng of alle vertuwe,
And wlated nouȝt to touche þerfore
Vr fflesch of Cleyȝes huwe;

116

Þer-of he made him-self a scheld
Priueliche to dare,
fforte rescouwe in þe feld
Mon of help ful bare.

Heil þou hous bi niht and day,
Þou art of gret plente,
And þe Brok þat rennes ay
fful of likerouste:
Þou fulle vs alle of þat welle
fful of Charite,
Þat vr hertes mouwe euer dwelle
In Brihtnesse wiþ þe.

Heil of wymmen mylde most,
Þat noldest no luþurnesse,
Nor haddest in no luþur gost
Loue nor swetnesse,
But in vr lord þe lyked wel,
And euer-more þou schal:
Þerof þou graunte vs sum del,
To fullen vs þer-wiþ-al.

Heil Moder of þe newe gyse
Þat bar þe swete childe:
Whon he comeþ, þat hiȝe Iustise,
ffrom his wraþþe vs schilde,
Þat we fele not þat harde snibbyng
Þat mony mon schal drede,
But of þe lyf euer-lastyng
Mote we han vr mede.

117

Heil whom of þe holigost
Þe schadewe haþ vmbicast,
Of þi flesch, as wel þou wost,
Þi sones flesch made in hast;
Whon he vr kuynde in þat manere
Tok to his felawe,
To his Blisse þat is so dere
On heiȝ he con vs drawe.

Heil þorw whom to þe blynde
Liht schon ful feire,
Þat Eue, Modur of vre kynde,
Wiþ tast of deþ con peire:
Out of þe Slouh of wrecchednesse
And of þe dregge of cleye
To lede vs to þi worþinesse,
Þyn holi preyere seye.

He[i]l blesset beo þi mood,
Þorw whom God bi-held
And on þe pore he vnderstod,
In toune and in feld;
Vre neode nolde he dispise,
Þouh he were riche i-nouh,
But in mony a wyse
His Richesse to vs drouh.

118

Heil whom þe welle of bliss
Wolde fulle ful of wele,
So þat þou weore Maad, i-wis,
Þe welle of verrey hele:
Vr þouhtes and vre ȝernynge,
Ladi, þou so bi-holde
Þat of þe welles springe
We mouwe beo glad and bolde.

Heil whom God specialy
ffrom oþere wolde twynne,
Whom he þi bodi priuely
Wolde reste wiþ-Inne.
Þe cause of Obligacion
Þat vs to helle bond,
He brac wiþ gret fuson
Of his riht hond.

Heil of whom þe holi gutte
Crist haþ forþ sende,
Bi whom þei ben vndurputte
Þat vs ȝerne wolde schende:
Saue vs alle in his miht,
Þat þei han ofte feled
Þat wiþ-stonden aȝeyn þe riht
Þe hond þat haþ hem greued.

Heil þat stondest neuer loþ
On riht half of vr lord;
Whom sondernesse vmbigoþ
Of vertuwes in a-Cord:

119

Bi-hold, þou douhter of þe kyng,
And bouwe doun Ere þyne,
Þe ffruit of þe spryngynge
Beo vre Medicyne.

Heil þou tente for þe schour
And for þe hete of Sonne,
Whom god com in to þi bour,
Wiþ þe for to wonne;
ffrom þe to vs in gret plente
Þe water ron a-flod
Þat gladed al þe grete Cite—
Wher-of we mowe þink good.

Heil þorw whom wiþ-oute blame
God dounward wolde beende,
In þe loue of his name
Vre hertes forto teende;
Of vre kuynde for he part hadde,
Whon he steih vp in to Blis,
Þe rihte wey he vs ladde—
We hopen þider, i-wis.

Heil þat art so gret ladi
And gretlych artou preised,
Cite of þe kyng þat [sit] on hih,
Hul Syon vp-reised;
Deserued þou hast gret Richesses
Þat gostly ben, i trouwe:
fflette us from þe wrecchednesses
Þat we dwellen in so lowe.

120

Heil þorw whom, þat was boren
Mon to gret vnreste,
To þe worschipe þat he hedde lore
Whon he was lik a Beeste,
God restored hym a-ȝeyn
And set Monkynde aboue
Þe hexte Angeles, as we seyn—
Þerfore we schulde him loue.

Heil Modur most worþi
To God þat schulde be bore,
Of þe tok þe swete bodi
Þat pyned was so sore;
Þorw þat peyne he clensed vs so,
Þat wiþ herte schene
Sikerly we mou go
Aȝeyn vr Iugge bi-dene.

Heil, of vs þou haue merci,
Of Merci we þe prey,
ffor Moder þou art witerly
Of Merci, as we seye.
Þou hast merci of hem alle
Þat wiþ deuocioun
And wiþ preisyng on þe calle,
Þou herest heore Orisoun.

121

[XXV. A salutacioun to vre lady.]

Mayden, Modur, and comely Qween,
Þat art in heuene and euer schal ben,
Euere beo þou blessed,
ffor þow sendes me help and grace,
Whon I was in a place
Þer Deth was to me dressed.

Mi lyf I wende me hedde forsaken,
And drery deþ to me taken,
To make wiþ him to wone:
Wiþ my tonge, als I couþe,
I Criȝede, “Ladi, help me nouþe,
Þow prey to þi swete sone!”

Þi grace com to me þat day
In to a Castel þer I lay,
Men seide I was but ded;
Ihesu, þat þou louedest dere,
Com to me þorwh þi preyere
In þe fourme of bred.

Marie, of ioye þou berest þe pris,
ffor þou art ȝate of paradis,
Þer Ioye is Murie and long.
ffeire Modur and Mayden swete,
Wiþ fyue Ioyes I þe grete,
Ladi, here my song. Aue Maria.

Heil beo þow, Marie Modur of crist,
Þat Conceyuedest him al wyth lyst,
Ihesu þat was so mylde;
He liht in to þe, soþ hit was,
As dude þe Sonne þorwh þe Glas,
And so þow wex wiþ chylde. Aue M.

Heyl Marie, of Maydens þe flour,
Þow beer Ihesu, vr sauiour,
Wiþ-outen eny peyne.
ffeir hit was, þat ilke burþe,
Þat in his ȝouþe made murþe
Wiþ þi pappes tweyne! Aue.

122

Heil Mayden, þat euer-more
Schalt beo Qween, and hast ben ȝore,
In heuene and in eorþe.
Þeos ben foure of power most:
ffadur, and Sone, and holygost,
And þou, Ladi, þe feorþe. Aue.

Heil gracious qween Mari,
To þe vs neodeþ calle and cri
Whon we ben sori and syke.
Heil hele in halle and boure;
Þou louest men þat þe honoure,
Þi loue is euere i-like. Aue.

Heil, sone boote þer bale is neih;
Þauh þi wonynge beo an heih,
Þou herknest to vs at nede.
Heil rest to weri bones;
Whon I was stoned wiþ harde stones,
Þow halp wiþ-outen mede. Aue.

Heil, to al Angeles Ioye and blis,
Þow art Qwen þer, I wot, I-wis,
Witnes of vr Bokes.
Heil witti and wys of werkes,
Þou drawest boþe prestes and Clerkes
Out of þe fendes hokes. Aue.

Heil fendes fo, feirest of alle!
Þi Bed was In an Asse stalle
Whon þi sone was Born.
Heil weddet wyf and Mayden eke,
Of þe þis holy prophetes speeke
An hundred ȝer bi-forn. Aue.

Heil mihtiest of Middel-ert,
Of þe þe fendes ben a-ferd
And douten þe ful sore.
Heil cumfort of Careful wyues;
When þei ben ferd of heore lyues,
Þou helpest hem euer-more. Aue.

Heil chyld boren In Naȝareth,
Þou beere a child þat to[c] þe deth,
As alle trewe telle.

123

Heil Godus Modur gentyl and good,
Þou let Adam and his blood
Out of þe pit of helle. Aue.

Heil Modur Merciabel,
He is þi sone wiþ-outen fabel
Þat alle þynge wot.
Heil Meke marie of renoun,
Þi sone haþ for vs I-leyd a-doun
His herte-blood al hot. Aue.

Heil Mari þat to vs hiȝes!
Þi Modur bar þreo Maries—
So feire hire beo-tydde;
On was Marie Iacobe,
And þat oþur Cleophe,
And þou, ladi, þe þridde. Aue.

Heil Marie, wiþ most honour
Corouned qween in heuene-tour
Bi-fore þy sones face;
To alle neodful þou art couþ,
Wel art þou cald wiþ Angeles Mouth,
“Marie ful of grace.” Aue.

“Heil Marie ful of grace,
Heil beo þou in vche a place,
ffor god is laft wiþ þe.”
In heuene and eorþe þou beo honoured,
ffor my lyf þou hast socoured
And drawen deþ from me. Aue.

Heil feirest of alle floures,
A-postles, Martires an Confessoures
Þe for ladi calle;
Heil brihtor þen þe sonne-beem,
Þou beere Ihesu In Bedlehem,
Wiþ Blood þat bouht vs alle. Aue.

Heil feirest of alle landes,
To god þou hef vp þyn handes
Whon Gabriel þe grette.
Heil clerore þen þe Cristal-ston,
Þou art in heuene, Blood and Bon,
ffor þer þi sone þe sette. Aue.

124

Heyl Marie, Blessed kidde,
A feir grace þe beo-tidde—
Þi peere is nouhwher leued:
God him-self þi bodi chees,
To sitte wiþ him on his dees
And bere Coroune on heued. Aue.

Heil Marie as briht as day,
Goddus sone wiþ-Inne þe lay
His Burth to a-byde.
Whon he was two and þritti ȝeer old,
He fauht for men as kempe bold,
And baar ful blodi syde. Aue.

Heil Marie, þat art ay boun
To kepe us from temptacion
Of þe fendes Blake;
Heil riche Qween of vche a toun,
Þi sone haþ soffred passioun
ffor al Monkynde sake. Aue.

Heil briht Braunche of Rose rote,
Of þe sprong a sauour swote
Þat sauereþ ay so swete.
Heil Modur of al-holy Chirche,
And alle þat euere wol wysly worche,
I rede þat heo þe grete. Aue.

Heil Ioachyms Ioyful seed,
Þou sayh whon Laȝarus was ded
ffoure dayes and More;
Bi-fore Martha and Magdeleyn
Ihesu called him to lyue a-ȝeyn
And for him rewed sore. Aue.

Heil Marie, Mayden sleihe,
Mony goode dedes þou seiȝe
Of þulke þat Ihesu wrouhte:
A Mon was ded and lay on Bere,
His Moodur wiþ ful reuþful chere
Grace at Ihesu souhte; Aue.

Heil Marie, of gret pite,
Ihesu for þe loue of þe
Made þat wommon bliþe:

125

To þe Bere he put his honde
And bad þe Cors anon vp stonde;
To lyue hit ros als-swiþe. Aue.

Heil Mayden, heil þou,
Alle þi Ioyes I may not nou
In my song telle;
Is mony an hundred ȝer a-gone
Þou hast ben, ladi, queen þyn one
Of heuene, Erþe and helle. Aue.

Holy Mayden, wel þe be,
Þat was at þe feste of Galyle,
Þer was wanted wyn:
Þi sone comaundet men in halle
Wiþ watur fulle heor vessels alle
By-fore Architriclyn; Aue.

Heil Marie, þat sauh al þat:
Whon Ihesu on þi Barm sat
And blessed hit wiþ his honde,
Al þe watur þat þer was brouht
By-com red wyn al vn-souht,
Þer nis no beter in londe. Aue.

Heil semlokest vndur sonne,
Þorwh þe was a werk by-gonne
By-twene God and Mon;
Blessed beo þou of alle wymmen,
And þe fruyt of þi wombe, Amen,
Þat such a werk bi-gon. Aue.

Blessed beo, ladi, þyn holy nome,
Þat schilde[s] vs from synne and schome,
And Makes þe fend vnglad;
Þer þat nempned is Mari,
Þe fendes by-gynnen a-wei to fly
And diȝeþ neih for drad. Aue.

Blessed beo, ladi, þyn heued aboue,
Þer god hath schewed his moste loue
On heih riht in his halle:
Þe Coroune of heuene þer-on is set,
Wiþ alle þe Angeles þou art gret
As ladi of hem alle. Aue.

126

Blessed beo, ladi, þat witti Brayn:
Þou hast maad þe fend vn-fayn
Þat deope in helle sit;
Monnes soules þat weore lost,
Þou beer a child on þi Coste
ffro helle-pyne haþ hem quit. Aue.

Blessed beo, ladi, þat holy frount,
Þat holy is holden and sount,
Þe cheef of al þi face;
Þer-in is set a bond of wit,
Vndur þe croune comly knit
Wiþ a louely lace. Aue.

Blessed beo, ladi, þi Brouwes bent:
A feir grace God haþ þe sent,
Þi lookyng is louely ay.
Ladi, for þi louesum chere
Prey þi sone, þat we mowe here
Serue him to pay! Aue.

Blessed be, ladi, þy Riht Ere:
Þe holygost, he liht in þere
fflesch and Blod to take;
God sende his sone adoun,
To soffre pine and passioun
And faiht wiþ þe Drake. Aue.

Blessed beo, Ladi, þyn oþur Ere,
ffor hit herknes ay-where
To Men þat haue to done;
Þyn Ere is open at vre callyng:
Whon we preye for eny þing,
Vr erende comeþ sone. Aue.

Blessed beo, ladi, boþe þyn Eiȝen,
Þat þreo kynges offringes seȝen
Þat kneled þe by-fforen.
Þou seost euer-more I-lyche
Ioye and Blisse in heuene-riche—
To godur hele þou weore boren! Aue.

Blessed be, ladi, a-mong þi wittes
Þi ffeire Neose, þat comely sittes
Amidde þi frount bi-neþen.

127

Ladi, for þe loue of Anastas
Let vs seo þi feire ffaas,
Whon we wenden heþen! Aue.

Blessed beo, ladi, boþe þi chekes:
Merci for vs to him þou sekes
Þat þe for Modur Ches.
Ladi, as þou art Modur mylde,
ffrom worldus schome þou me schylde,
And gete vs grith and pes! Aue.

Ladi, I-blessed beo þi Mouth:
Whon God þe sende in to þe south
Þe Aungel Gabriel,
Þow onswerdest Mekelych and sayde,
“I am heer Godus hond-Mayde”—
Þis word is in gospel. Aue.

Blessed be, lady, þi trewe tonge:
A-Mong wymmen olde and ȝonge
Þat euerȝite han ben,
So treowe I-founden was neuer non;
ffor-þi þou art in Blod and Bon
Corouned heuene-Qween. Aue.

Blessed beo, ladi, þi Chin I-chose:
þer-on schal neuer mon lose
To blesse hit niht and day;
Hit schal reue him serwe and synne,
And make him in his lyf to wynne
Þe Ioye þat lasteþ ay. Aue.

Blessed beo, ladi, þi brihte neb-schaft—
Of kuynde he couþe ful wel his craft
Þat hit hedde entayled!
Þe teres ron doun of floode
Whon þou seȝe þi sone on Roode,
ffeet and hondes nayled. Aue.

Blessed beo, ladi, þi white sweere:
Ihesu, þat þou louest deere,
Clupped hit ofte a-boute.
Whose wol his synne forsake
And of þat cluppyng Ioye make,
Hym þar no deueles doute. Aue.

128

Blessed beo, lady, þi clere þrote:
At neode euere þou dost vs note
Whon Bale vs haþ I-bounde.
Ladi, þou neuere woldest ȝelpe,
Prey þi sone þat he vs helpe
ffor his Blessede wounde! Aue.

Blessed beo, ladi, þi scholdres two,
And þi cleer Canel-bonus also
Þat semely ben in siht:
As kyng, kniht or Champioun
ffor Men þou art redi-Boun
Wiþ þe fend to fiht. Aue.

Blessed beo, ladi, þyn Armes tweyne:
In vche a gederyng þou art gayne
To helpen vs at nede;
Vr wo þou tornest to weole,
And sauest vs from wreches fele—
Blessed beo þou to Mede! Aue.

Blessed beo, ladi, boþe þin hondes,
Þat swaþeled him in swaþelyng-bondes
Þat Monnes soule haþ wrouht,
Heuene and helle and alle londes,
ffisch and ffoul, Séé and Sondes,
Al he maade of nouht. Aue.

Blessed beo, ladi, and feyre hem falle,
Þi þhommes and þi ffyngres alle
Þat genteliche are Maket,
On eiþer hond wiþ ffyngres fyue;
Þow þat hondelet him on lyue
Þat helle-fuir has slaket. Aue.

Blessed beo, ladi, þi brihte Brest:
Ihesu tok þer-in Rest,
Mon of miht most.
Was neuer non so clene of lyf
As þow weore, boþe Mayden and wyf,
To Resseyue þe holygost. Aue.

Blessed beo, ladi, þi stable herte:
Whon þou seȝe þi sone smerte,
Gret Care þou keptest;

129

Whon þou sauh him Buffet and beten,
Al his bodi of blood by-weten,
No wondur þauh þou weptest. Aue.

Blessed beo, ladi, þi brihte wombe:
Þer-in was þe holy Lombe
Þat bouht Adam and Eue,
And þe þridde day also blyue
He ros vp fro deþ to lyue—
Such is vre bi-leeue. Aue.

Blessed beo, ladi, þi softe sydes,
In Ioye and blis þou vs abydes,
Þer þou schalt beo founden;
Þi sone vs bouhte wiþ Raunsoun
And drouh vs out of dungoun,
Þer Lucifer liht i-boundun. Aue.

Blessed be, ladi, þi feire Bak,
And þi leendes wiþ-outen lak,
Þat dwellen ay in Blis.
Ladi, for þi muchel honour
Þin holy help and þy socour
Let vs neuere mis! Aue.

Blessed beo, ladi, þy Maydenhede:
Neuer was in þe sowen sede
As of wommon-kynde;
ffor-þi þou art coround Qween
Of alle wymmen þat han I-ben
Or euer schal Mon fynde. Aue.

Blessed beo, ladi, þi boþe þhiȝes,
To help vs ay þat hiȝes
ffrom þe vn-hold honde.
Ladi, to þi sone vs dresse,
And preye hym þat he vs blesse
And mayntyme in sonde! Aue.

Blessed beo, ladi, þi comely knen,
Þat for vs alle kneolynge ben
Boþe niht and day.
Hit is but on vs I-long,
Wheþer we worche ille or wrong,
Hou we schul haue vr pay. Aue.

130

Blessed [beo], ladi, alle beo-dene
Þi Schonkes and þi Schynes schene
Þat are strong and styþe;
Ofte hast þow erly and late
Don vr erende at heuene-ȝate
And Maked vs ful bliþe. Aue.

Blessed beo, ladi, þi Maydenhede,
Þyn haunches and þi feire fete,
Þat for vs trauayle.
Ladi, for þi grete grace
A-Mong þi Ioyes of a place
Let vs neuere fayle! Aue.

Blessed, ladi, beo al þi toos:
Whon þou of Childbedde a-Ros,
To þe Temple þow ȝeode,
fforte folfulle þat lawe
Þat was vsud by Olde dawe—
Symeon sauh þat dede. Aue.

Blessed beo, ladi, al at ones
Þi fflesch þi blod, þi skyn þi bones,
And þin Entrayles wiþ.
Ladi, for þi Muchel honour
Prey Ihesu vr sauyour,
He graunt vs pees and grith! Aue.

Blessed beo, ladi, þi grete strengþe:
Þou hast drawen my lyf on lengþe
And don an Almus werk;
Þow holdest þe fend vndur foote,
Þow geete fro his herte-Rote
Theophules lettre, þe Clerk. Aue.

Blessed beo, ladi, þi goode þewes,
Þat kepen vs from þe blake schrewes
Þat Mennes soules han craued;
Þe grete oþus þat Men han sworen
Hedde I-maad þe world for-loren,
But as þou hast hit saued. Aue.

Blessed beo, ladi, þi stable þouht:
Vre neodes for-ȝetest þou nouht,
Þow delest wiþ non hoket;

131

Bi-fore þe kyng þat demes riht
Þou pledest for men day and niht—
Blessed beo þat voket! Aue.

Blessed beo, ladi, þi swetnes.
Al Monkynde more and les
To helle were þei gon,
Þei weoren alle in helle i-bounde,
Til þi Sone wiþ blodi wounde
Hed leesed hem out vchon. Aue.

Blessed beo, ladi, þi feirhede,
Menget al wiþ whit and Rede,
Wiþ brihtnes al bi-Ron.
Ladi, flour of alle londes,
Bryng him out of carful bondes
Þat hath þis song bi-gon! Aue.

Blessed ladi, Blesse I schal
Þy Lyf, þi Soule, þi Bodi al
Þat eeuene to heuene went.
As wis, ladi, beo vr frend
And schild vs from þe foule fend,
And let vs neuer be schent.

A M. E N.

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

Ihesus, þat diȝedest vppon þe tre
And þoledest deþ for loue of me
And for myn elder sake,
ffrom þe deuel and al his miht
Þow kepe me, boþe day and niht,
Wher I slepe or wake.

Lord, ȝif me grace to worche þi wille
And þi Comaundement to forþfille,
Þat heuene may beo my Meede.
Ihesu, bring me to þi Reste,
Þat euere wiþ-outen ende schal leste,
And help me at al my nede.

132

Now God, þat died on þe Rode
And þer-on schedde þin herte-blode,
And of Marie was boren,
Heer me whon I to þe calle,
And let me neuere in synne falle,
Ne for my mis-dede be loren.

Ihesu, þi fyue woundes on þe Roode
Þat þou þoledest for monnes goode,
Moot my socour be.
In þe worschipe of þi wounde
Þat þyn herte þolede in þat stounde,
A Pater noster sei we. Pater.

In þe worschipe of þi riht honde
Þat was woundet in þe holy londe
And nayled to þe tre,
Heere to-day my preyere,
As wis as þou bouhtest me dere
Haue Merci, lord, on me. Pater.

Ihesu lord þat is so Mylde,
ffrom dedly synne þou me schilde
Boþe day and niht;
Cumforte me, Ihesu, wiþ þi sonde,
As wisliche as þi luft honde
Was nayled wiþ on-riht. Pater.

God, schilde my soule þat day fro care
Whon hit schal from my bodi fare;
Haue Merci, lord, on me,
As wis as I leue wel and wot
Þat on þe goode ffriday þi riht fot
Was nayled to þe tre. Pater.

As wis as harde to þe tre
Þi lift ffoot was nayled for me,
Graunte me þi grace,
Þat I may haue þi Ioyful reste,
Þat wiþ-outen ende schal leste,
And seo þi louely face.

AMEN.

Pater.

134

[XXVIII. A salutacioun to vre lady.]

Heil beo þow, Marie Moodur and May,
Mylde and Meke and Merciable!
Heyl follich fruit of soþfast fay,
Aȝeyn vche stryf studefast and stable;
Heil soþfast soule in vche a-say—
Vndur þi sone is non so able;
Heil logge þat vre lord in lay,
Þe formast þat neuer was founden in fable.
Heil trewe, trouþeful and tretable,
Heil cheef i-chosen of Chastite,
Heil homely, hende and amyable:
Do prey for vs to þi sone so fre. Aue.

Heil sterre þat neuer stunteþ liht,
Heil Busch Brennyng þat neuer was brent;
Heil rihtful rulere of eueri riht,
Schadewe to schilde þat scholde be schent;

135

Heil, Blessed beo þow, Blosme briht,
To trouþe and trust was þyn entent;
Heil Mayden and Modur most of miht,
Of alle mischeues a-Mendement.
Heil spice sprong þat neuer was spent,
Heil trone of þe Trinite,
Heil soiourne þat Godus sone to sent:
Þow preye for vs þi sone so fre. Aue.

Heil hertely in holinesse,
Heil hope of help to heihe and lowe,
Heil strengþe and stal of stabelnesse,
Heil wyndouwe of heuene-wowe,
Heil reson of al rihtwysnesse,
To vche a Caytyf cumfort to knowe,
Heil Inocent out of Angernesse,
Vr takel, vr tol þat we on trowe;
Heil frend to alle þat beoþ forþ flowe,
Heil liht of loue and of lewte,
Heil brihtor þen þe blod on snowe:
Þow preye for vs to þi sone so fre. Aue.

Heil Mayden, heil Modur, heil Martir trewe,
Heil kyndely I-knowe Confessour;
Heil euenere of old lawe and of newe,
Heil Buildere boold of cristes bour;
Heil Rose hiȝest of hyde and hewe,
Of alle ffruytes feirest fflour;
Heil Tortul trustiest and trewe,
Of alle trouþe þou art tresour;
Heil puyred princesse of paramour,
Heil Blosme of Brere, Brihtest of ble,
Heil owner of eorþly honour:
Þou prey for vs to þi sone so fre. Aue.

Heil hende, heil holy Emperesse,
Heil quene corteis, comely and kynde;
Heil distruyere of eueri stresse,
Heil mender of eueri monnes mynde;
Heil Bodi þat we ouhte to blesse,
So feiþful frend may neuer mon fynde;
Heil lenere and louere of largenesse,
Swete and swettest þat neuer may swynde;

136

Heil Botenere of eueri bodi blynde,
Heil Borgun brihtes[t] of alle bounte,
Heil trewore þen þe wode-bynde:
Þou pray for us to þi sone so fre. Aue.

Heil Modur, heil Mayden, heil heuene-qwene,
Heil ȝatus of paradys,
Heil Sterre of þe Se þat euere is seene,
Heil riche, Ryal and Riht-wys;
Heil Buyrde, I-blesset mote þow beene,
Heil perle, of al perey þe pris,
Heil Schadewe in vch a schour schene,
Heil fayrore þen þe flour delys;
Heil cher chosen þat neuer nas chis,
Heil chef chaumbre of Charite,
Heil in wo þat euere was wys:
Þow prey for vs to þi sone so fre. Aue.

Heil welle of merci, watur of lyf,
Heil gentel ȝerde of Iesse Roote;
Heil Mayde, heil Moodur, heil wedded wyf,
Þi blessednes brouht us til vr bote;
Heil studefast stuntere of eueri strif,
Þe feirest þat euer ȝeode vppon fote;
ffrom vs vche a deuel þou deest drif;
Heil swete, heil swettest, heil most swote;
Heil Mayden þat for vs most mote,
Heil puired princes of pite,
Heil Mirour vche mon on to tote:
Þow pray for vs to þi sone so fre. Aue.

Heil holy herte, hope of hele,
Heil fostrere of vre ful fay,
Heil worchere of þis worldly wele,
Heil wissere of vre rihtwys way,
Heil fallere of þe fendes fele,
Heil logge þat vre lord in lay,
Heil Chartre þat Ihesus gon a-sele:
ffor vs, ladi, to þi sone þou pray
Þat at þe dredful domus-day
Vre a-vokes þat ȝe may be,
ffor non oþur þen help us may
Saue þi-self and þi swete sone fre. Aue.

137

Heil hed of worschip, cristes trone,
Þe semely Temple of Salamon;
Heil brihtest Sonne, vn-meued Mone,
Heil ful fles of gedeon;
Heil help to hem þat han to done,
Loue of Angel, murþe of man:
Þi socour, ladi, send vs sone
And help vs, for we han mis-gan.
Charbokel neuer so cler schone
As ȝe schyne in cristes see.
To ȝow, ladi, I make my mone:
Prey for vs to þi sone so fre. Aue.

Heil Archa federis euere I-loke,
Cristes trewe tresorie;
Heil Archa of noe neuer to-broke,
ffor worldli wawe þat neuer wolde wrie;
Heil esterne ȝate faste I-stoke
Seþþe god þi sone eode out þer-bye;
Heyl chosen chastite þe ȝoke,
engendreer of vre gentrie;
Heil kuyndenesse, heil cortesye,
Heil douweer of diuinite,
Heil susteynour of Seyntuarie:
Þou preye for vs þi sone so fre. Aue.

Heil lok, heil loue, heil Marie!
I heile þe wiþ herte and þouht,
I heile þe wiþ Mouþ and eiȝe,
ffor my wilde werkes han beo nouht;
I heile þe and Merci crie,
Wiþ al my bodi I haue mis-wrouht;
I heile þe whom I schal dye,
And help to blisse þat we be brouht.
Pray þi sone, þat vs deore bouht,
Graunt vs grace for his pite,
Þauh synnes haue vs þorwh-souht;
Bring vs to þi blis þat euer schal be,

Amen.

Aue.

138

[XXIX. Miracles of oure lady.]

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

Lordus, ȝif ȝe wol lusten to me,
Of Croteye, þe noble Cite,
ffurst hou hit bi-seget was
And seþþen dilyueret þorw godus gras

139

And þorw þe help of vre ladi,
So witnesseþ Miracle of Mari.
Out of peihtes lond þer came
A kniht þat Rollo was his name;
He gederet wiþ him out of þe north Cost
Of diuerse nacions a wel gret host,
Out of Denemarch and North-wey,
Of feolore folk þen I con sey.
Mony Cuntres he can destruye,
Wel muchel pepule he gan anuye,
In mony a Coost, bi Est and West,
He won him londes bi Conquest.
ffurst he bi-gon in þe North Cuntre,
And aftur he schipet ouer þe Séé.
Sire Rollo wiþ al his host
Ariuede in ffraunce vp in a cost.
Þat Cuntre gon he furst destruiȝe,
Þerfore he called hit Northmondye,
ffor þei dude men to deþe i-lome
Þat out of þe North cost come;
Þerfore he called hit Northmondye,
As writen I fynde in his storye:
Of Bruit þe Cronicle witnesset wel
Þis Conquest of Rollo eueridel.
Hit was þe furste Duik in þat lond,
ffor he furst won hit wiþ his hond.

140

Whon Rollo þat kniht was þider I-comen
And mony a toun þei hedde I-nomen,
Mony a Mon þei dude to deþe,
fful fewe þei saueden, and ȝit vnneþe.
And as he trauayled on his Iorney,
He com to a Citéé, was called Crotey.

Þus sone Sire Rollo wiþ his Route
Bi-sette þat Citéé wiþ sege a-boute.
Wiþ-Inne þe Citéé men hedde gret drede:
Heore Enemys weren so douhti of dede;
Of socour þei seȝen non oþur won
But ȝelden þe Cite, or elles ben slon.

An holi Bisschop þer was þer-Inne,
Þat was called sire Waltelinne,
He was Bisschop of þat Citéé,
A swuyþe noble mon was he.
He tauhte heom ȝerne knele and crie
To crist and to his Modur Marie;
Þorw help of hire þat bar vr lord
He hopede þei schulden han sone cumfort.
Seþen him-self goþ to þe Sextriȝe,
Þat was þe Munstres treserye;
Vr ladi Curtel þer-Inne he found.
Wiþ gret Reuerence he kneled to ground,
Þer to Marie he beed his bone
To sende þat Cite socour sone.
Wiþ peple and gret processioun
He bar þat Relyk þorw al þe toun,
fful deyntely diht vppon a spere,
As lordus Baner displayet in werre.

Þe Bisschop heet cast vp þe ȝate
And bad his folk folewe hym algate,
Him-self bi-foren and þei be-hynde;
He hoped in Marie help to fynde.
A-non as þei were þus out went,
Heore enemys letten hem not but schent:
ffor so a-stoneyd and ferede men
Nere neuer worse þen þei were þen!
Whon on þat relyk þei caste heore siht,
Þei woxe start-blynde anon-riht;

141

Þei mihten no more defenden heom þen
Þen so mony blynde or drounkene Men.
Þe Citeseins token hem at heore wille,
Summe to Raunsum, and summe to spille.
Siþen þei turnen aȝeyn to þe Citéé
Wiþ Murþe and gret solempnite,
And herieden heihly þat Mylde may
Þat socourde and saued hem so þat day.
And do we on þe same wyse
Boþe glade and bliþe wiþ bisy seruise,
Þe same ladi forte qweme,
Þat so in Mischeef to vs takeþ ȝeme
To hire sone crist vre erende to bede,
And socoureþ vs so at eueri nede.
Nou, ladi, preye þi sone on hih
To alle cristene he graunte Merci!

Amen.

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

Wose loueþ wel vre ladi,
Heo wol quiten his wille wel whi,
Oþur in his lyf or at his ende:
Þe ladi is so freo and hende.
Hit fel [so] sum-tyme in Parys,
As witnesseþ in holy writ Storys.

In þe Cite bi-fel þis cas:
A pore child was of porchas,
Þat wiþ þe Beggeri þat he con wynne
He fond sumdel what of his kinne,
His ffader, his Moder, and eke him-self;
He begged in Cite bi eueri half.

Þe child non oþur Craftus couþe
But winne his lyflode wiþ his Mouþe.
Þe Childes vois was swete and cler,
Men lusted his song wiþ riht good cher;
Wiþ his song þat was ful swete
He gat Mete from strete to strete.
Men herked his song ful likyngly:
Hit was an Antimne of vre lady,

142

He song þat Antimne eueri-wher,
I-Called Alma Redemptoris Mater,
Þat is forþrihtly to mene:
“Godus Moder, Mylde and Clene,
Heuene ȝate and Sterre of se,
Saue þi peple from synne and we.”
Þat song was holden deynteous,
Þe child song hit from hous to hous.
ffor he song hit so lykynglye,
Þe Iewes hedde alle to hym Envye.
Til hit fel on a seters-day
Þe Childes wey þorw þe Iewerie lay:
Þe Iewes hedden þat song in hayn,
Þerfore þei schope þe child be slayn.
So lykingly þe Child song þer,
So lustily song he neuer er.

On of þe Iewes Malicious
Tilled þe child in to his hous;
His Malice þere he gan to kuyþe:
He Cutte þe childes þrote alswiþe.

Þe child ne spared nout for þat wrong,
But neuer-þe-latere song forþ his song;
Whon he hedde endet, he eft bi-gon,
His syngyng couþe stoppe no mon.

Þer-of þe Ieuh was sore anuyet.
Leste his Malice mihte ben aspyet,
Þe Ieuh bi-þouhte him of a gynne:
In to a gonge-put fer wiþ-Inne
Þe child adoun þer-Inne he þrong.
Þe child song euere þe same song;
So lustily þe child con crie,
Þat song he neuer er so hyȝe:
Men mihte him here fer and neer,
Þe Childes vois was so heiȝ and cleer.

Þe Childes moder was wont to a-byde
Euery day til þe Non-tyde,
Þen was he wont to bringe heom mete,
Such as he mihte wiþ his song gete.
Bote þat day was þe tyme a-past.
Þerfore his Moder was sore a-gast;

143

Wiþ syk and serwe in eueri strete
Heo souhte wher heo mihte wiþ him mete.

Bote whon heo com in to þe Iewery,
Heo herde his vois so cler of cry.
Aftur þat vois his Modur dreuh:
Wher he was Inne, þerbi heo kneuh.

Þen of hire child heo asked a siht.
Þe Iew wiþ-nayted him anon-riht,
And seide þer nas non such child þrinne.
Þe childes Moder ȝit nolde not blinne,
But euer þe Moder criede in on.
Þe Ieuh seide euere þer nas such non.
Þen seide þe wommon: “þou seist wrong,
He is her-Inne, I knowe his song.”
Þe Ieuh bi-gon to stare and swere
And seide þer com non such child þere.
But neuer-þe-latere men mihte here
Þe child song euere so loude and clere,
And euer þe lengor, herre and herre,
Men mihte him here boþe fer and nerre.

Þe Modur coude non oþur won:
To Meir and Baylyfs heo is gon,
Heo pleyneþ þe Ieuh haþ don hire wrong
To stelen hire sone so for his song;
Heo preyeþ to don hire lawe and riht,
Hire sone don come bi-fore heore siht,
Heo preyeþ þe Meir par Charite
Of him to haue freo lyuere.

Þenne heo telleþ þe Meir a-Mong
Hou heo lyueþ bi hire sone song.

Þe Meir þen haþ of hire pite,
And sumneþ þe folk of þat Cite.
He telleþ hem of þat wommons sawe,
And seiþ he mot don hire þe lawe,
And hoteþ hem wiþ hym to wende,
To Bringe þis wommons cause to ende.

Whon þei cum þider, for al heore noyse
Anon þei herde þe childes voyse,
Riht as an Angeles vois hit were,
Þei herde him neuer synge so clere.

144

Þer þe Meir makeþ entre,
And of þe child he askeþ lyuere.

Þe Ieuh may nouȝt þe Meir refuse,
Ne of þe child hym wel excuse,
But nede he moste knouleche his wrong,
A-teynt bi þe childes song.

Þe Meir let serchen hym, so longe,
Til he was founden in þe gonge,
fful depe I-drouned in fulþe of fen.
Þe Meir het drawe þe child vp þen,
Wiþ ffen and ffulþe riht foule bi-whoruen,
And eke þe childes þrote I-coruen.
Anon-riht, er þei passede forþere,
Þe Ieuh was Iugget for þat Morþere.
And er þe peple passede in-sonder,
Þe Bisschop was comen to seo þat wonder.

In presence of Bisschop and alle I-fere
Þe child song euere I-liche clere.

Þe Bisschop serchede wiþ his hond:
Wiþ-inne þe childes þrote he fond
A Lilie flour, so briht and cler,
So feir a Lylie nas neuere seȝen er,
Wiþ guldene lettres eueriwher:
Alma Redemptoris Mater.

Anon þat lilie out was taken,
Þe childes song bi-gon to slaken,
Þat swete song was herd no more;
But as a ded cors þe child lay þore.

Þe Bisschop wiþ gret solempnete
Bad bere þe cors þorw al þe Cite:
And hym-self wiþ processioun
Com wiþ þe Cors þorw al þe toun,
Wiþ prestes and clerkes þat couþen syngen,
And alle þe Belles he het hem ryngen,
Wiþ torches Brennynge and cloþus riche,
Wiþ worschipe þei ladden þat holi liche.
In to þe Munstre whon þei kem,
Bi-gonne þe Masse of Requiem,
As for þe dede Men is wont.
But þus sone þei weren i-stunt:

145

Þe Cors a-Ros in heore presens,
Bi-gon þen Salue sancta parens.

Men mihte wel witen þe soþe þer-bi:
Þe child hedde i-seruet vr swete ladi,
Þat worschipede him so on erþe her
And brouhte his soule to blisse al cler.

Þerfore i rede þat eueri mon
Serue þat ladi wel as he con,
And loue hire in his beste wyse:
Heo wol wel quite him his seruise.
Now, Marie, for þi Muchele miht
Help vs to heuene þat is so briht!

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

God, þat al þis world haþ wrouht
And formed alle þing of nouht,
Seþþen alle þing wiþ-outen him
Is deþ and dernesse and dim,
Graunt vs grace and space and miht
Þat we mowe serue him so ariht:
Whon we out of þis world wende,
To wynne þe Ioye wiþ-outen ende.

To hele of soule is noble þing
To louen and lyken holy talkyng
Of holy men þat sum-tyme were,
And of heore holy lyf to here.
ffor synne i[s] cald þe deueles schakel,
His net, his tool, his takyng takel;
Wiþ lust he eeseþ his put-falle,
To gylen wiþ cristene soules alle:
But grace a-ȝeynes þat is obstacle,
Wiþ help of halewen, þorw Miracle
Geten bi halewen specially,
Bote souereynlokest þorw vre ladi,
Þat sikerest socour is at vr nede,
Synful Monnes erende to beode;
Whon we ben synfol and vn-clene,
To wynne vs Merci, heo is Mene:

146

As sum-tyme in Rome bi-fel,
Þe storie i-writen witnesset wel.

Þer was sum-tyme in þat Cite
A wommon þat louede not chastite;
Hire lyf heo ladde in gret folye,
In fulþe and lust of Lecherye;
Wiþ no Mon spared heo forte do synne
Of whom heo hoped Moneye to wynne.
Þat wommon greiþed hire queynt and gay,
And wolk in þat Cite on a day.
Heo mette wiþ an holy heremyt
Þat in deuocion hedde gret delyt;
He bad his beodes deuoutely,
And holi Aues to vre ladi.

Þat wommon, as heo com hym bi
And sayh hym cloþed Boistusli,
Of synne and folye heo talked him tille
And temptede þe holy Monnes wille.

Þe hermyte onswerde hire nouht,
In his deuociun was al his þouht.
Whon he of hire tok no Reward,
In scorn heo cleped hym papelard,
And seide: “þou fol, þou dotel ffrere,
What chaffest þou and chaterest þus here?
What is al þat pryue roun
Þat þou whistrest her vp and doun?”—
ffor he folewede nout hire dilyt
Þe wommon hedde of him dispyt.

Þe Hermite onswerde ful myldely:
“Damesele, þis is þe cause why:
I am my-self a synful Mon
And of goodnes ful lutel I con,
To god I preye boþe day and niht
ffor grace, to seruen hym ariht,
And [for] alle þat habeþ hym ouht a-gult,
And for þe, wommon, ȝif þow wolt,
Þat God graunte þe such grace
To serue þi god, whil þou hast space.
Boþe þou and I and alle oþur,
ffor eueri cristene is oþeres broþer,

147

In gode bedes we moten tristen,
Boþe þou and I and alle cristen.”

Þe wommon seide: “Biddestou for me?”
Þen seide þe Hermyte: “damesele, ȝe,
I preye for þe as for my-self
An alle oþere cristene in godes half,
Þat god for-ȝiue vs vre misdedes;
So verrey Charite techeþ vs nedes.”

Þen seide þe damesele aȝeyn:
“To preye for me þou worchest in veyn;
Leoue ffrere, of me tac non hede,
ffor to þi preyere haue I non nede.”

Þo seide þe Hermite: “Damesel,
Þe neodeþ me nouht, I leeue hit wel,
Me, ne non preyere of myne.
But mekeliche I preye þe of þyne
To Ihesu and his Modur Mari,
To graunte me of my synnes Merci.
Þe nexte chirche þat þou comest Inne,
I preye þe, damesele, so bi-gynne;
Þat I þi bone þe bet may fele,
I prey þe, damesele, þat þow knele;
Wiþ herte and good deuocioun
Of my synnes get me pardoun;
Mekely knelyng on þi kne
Þreo Pater Noster preye to god for me,
And to his swete Moder Mari
Þreo Aues þerto, for my Merci.”

Þen onswereþ þe damysel:
“Þis nis but luyte, I graunte hit wel;
Hose wuste þat hit mihte a-vayle,
Þis nis bote a luytel trauayle.”

Þenne onswereþ þe Hermyte:
“Damysele, seþþe hit nis bote luyte,
I preye þe do þis þing for me;
Þi trauayle I-quit riht wel schal be
Or in þi lyue or afturward;
I preie þe, damysele, hold foreward.”

Þenne seide þe damysel:
“Þe foreward i hope to holde wel;

148

Wher hit a-vayle oþur elles nouht,
I wol don as þou hast bi-souht.”

Þe hermyte Mekely kneled adoun
And þonked hire wiþ deuocioun.

Þe Damysele wende forþ hire wey
Abouten hire murþus and hire pley.
And as heo streihte þorw a strete,
Heo þouhte what heo þe Hermyte bi-hete;
And in a strete as heo com bi,
Heo seih a Chapel of vre ladi:

In to þat Chapel heo made entre.
Þer was an ymage of Marie fre,
Of þat blisful Mayden Mylde,
Vppon hire barm heo bar hire childe.

Þe damysele caste on hire a siht
And þouhte þat ymage swete and briht,
And þouhte, bi foreward hou heo was bounde
To knele bi-foren hire on þe grounde;
Heo tok to god non oþur reward
But for schome to breke forward.

Heo kneled adoun vpon hire knes
And seide þe paternostres and þe Aues,
As was hire foreward furst bi-fore,
And seide: “Ihesu, lord, þyn Ore!
ffor-ȝif þe Hermyte his trespas
And graunt hym Merci, þorw þi gras,
Of al þat euer he haþ mys-do
In al his lyf ȝut hider-to.”

Þenne þhouȝte þe damisele verreyly
Þe Babe loked on hire wroþly,
Hire þhouȝte þo he tornde his Bak,
Such wordes to his mooder he spak:
“Moder, seostou hou ȝond neih hend
Myn enemy preyeþ for my frend?”

Hire þhouȝte þe Moder onswered aȝein
Wiþ wordus Mylde, plat and pleyn:
“Sone, for þy ffrendes sake,
What-euere þin Enemy haþ mis-take
ffor-ȝiue hit, sone, of þi Merci,
As þou art, lord, God almihti,

149

And also, sone, for þe loue of me
Hire synnes I preye for-ȝiuen be.”

Þe child onswerde wiþ louely chere:
“Mi swete Modur, Mi norice dere,
Þi bone mot nedes I-graunted be,
What þou wolt wol I not werne þe.”

Þenne seide Marie: “lo, Damysel,
Þou schalt haue grace, þou hast herd wel;
But þow maiȝt sen riht wel bi þis
Hou þou hast lad þi lyf amis,
ffor þou hast liued in luþur lyue.
Tac a prest and do þe schriue
Wiþ sereuful herte and repentaunce,
And gladly vnderueng penaunce;
ffor at þis fourti dayes ende
Þou schalt out of þis world wende
And wone wiþ vs in murþe and play,
Þat lasteþ in Ioye for euere and ay.”

Þis was þat synful wommons ende,
Þorw help of Marie, þat Mayden hende.
Bi-seche we ȝerne þat swete may
To helpen vs at vre laste day
Of hol Remission of vre synne
And to Ioye þat heo woneþ Inne.

amen.

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

Lord, Makere of alle þing,
Almihti God in Maieste,
Þat euer was wiþ-oute biginning
And art and euermore schal be:

Graunte vs boþe miht and space
So to serue þe to pay,
Þat we mowe þorw þi grace
Wone wiþ þe for euere and ay!

Of þe Miracles of vre ladi
We ouhten wel to hauen in Muynde,
Þat writen beþ in soþ stori,
Hou helplich heo is euere to Monkynde.

150

Sum-tyme fel in on Cite—
Herkneþ wel, and ȝe may here—
As Iewes weren I-wont to be
Among þe cristen and wone I-fere:

Þe Cristene woneden in On halue
Of þat Cite, as I þe hete,
And alle þe Iewes bi hem-selue
Were stihlet to wone in a strete.

Þe Cristene children in a Crofte
I-mad hem hedden a wel feir plas.
Þer-Inne a Iewes child ful ofte
Wiþ hem to pleyen I-wont he was.

Þe childes ffader nom non hede,
Ne to his child he sette non eiȝe,
Þerfore þe child boþe com and eode
As ofte as euere hem luste to pleye.

So ofte to pleyen hem fel i-fere
Þe Iewes sone on heore pleyes coude,
Þat riht as on of hem he were;
Wiþ loue þerfore þei him alouwede.

At an Aster tyme bi-tidde,
Whon cristen made solempnite—
A Menskful Munstre was mad amidde,
As semed best, in þat Citéé:

Þerto þe cristene peple can drawe,
To here boþe Mateyns and eke Masse,
As falleþ bi þe Cristene lawe
Boþe to more and eke to lasse;

Eueri mon in his array,
Boþe housbonde and wyf also,
As falleþ wel for asterday
And al as cristene men schul do.

Þe children foleweden heore fadres in-fere,
As þei weore euere I-wont to do.
Þe Iewes child wiþ wel good chere
Wiþ hem wel fayn was for to go.

Wiþ-Inne þe chirche whon he was Riht,
Him þouhte he nas neuer er so glad
As he was of þat semeli siht,
Such on bi-fore neuer seȝe he had:

151

Boþe laumpes & tapers, brenninde briht,
And Auters curiousliche de-peynt,
IMages ful deinteousliche i-diht,
And guld of moni a good corseynt.

A comeli qween in O Chayer
fful semeli sat, al greiþed in golde,
A blisful Babe on Arm heo beer,
fful kyngly Corouned, as he scholde.

Of þat ladi þe child tok hede,
And of þat blisful Babe also,
Hou folk bi-foren heore bedes bede,
As cristen Men beþ wont to do.

Þe Iewes child euere tok such ȝeme
To alle sihtes þat he þer seiȝ,
Him þhouȝte hem alle so swete to seme
ffor Ioye him þouȝte I-Rauessched neih.

Whon heiȝ-Masse of þat day was do,
Þe Prest bad alle men knelen a-doun:
Wiþ Confiteor, as falleþ þer-to,
He ȝiueþ hem Absolucioun;
He biddeþ hem More and lasse also,
To vengen heor sauiour busken hem boun.
Þe Iewes child tok tente þer-to,
Among þe cristene he dude him doun.

AMong þe pres þauh he were poselet,
He spared no-þing for no drede
AMong þe cristene til he were hoselet;
Of such a child me tok non hede.

To ende whon alle þing was brouht
And eueri cristene drouh him hom,
Þe Ieuh þorw toune his child haþ souht,
And saih wher he from chirche com.

He asked his sone wher he hedde ben,
Whil he hedde souht him al þat day.
Al riht as he hedde i-don and seon,
Þe child him rikenet al þe a-Ray.

His ffader þerfore wox wood-wroþ,
And seide anon: “þou getest þi mede!”
And to his houene al hot he goþ,
Þat glemede as glowyng as a glede.

152

In to þe houene þe child he caste:
To askes he þouȝte þe child to brenne;
And wiþ þe Mouþ-ston he stekeþ him faste,
And þouhte þat neuer couþ scholde him kenne.

Þerof whon his moder herde,
In a stude þer as heo stood,
As ffrayed in ffrenesye heo ferde,
ffor wo heo wente as waxen wood,

Euer hotyng out, heo tar hire her,
In eueri stret of þat Citee,
Nou In, Nou out, so eueriwher;
Men wondret on hire and hedde pite.

Boþe Meir and Bailifs of þe toun,
Whon þei herden of þat cri,
Þei aresten hire bi Resoun,
A[nd] maden chalange enchesun whi

Heo criede so in þat Cite
And putte þe Peple in such affray,
To serwen in such solempnite,
And nomeliche on heore Aster-day.

As sone as heo mihte sece of wepe,
Þis was þe seyinge of hire sawe:
“Sires, ȝe han þis Citéé to kepe,
As lordus han to lede þe lawe:

Allas, Allas, I am i-schent,
And help of ow me mot bi-houen,
I prey ow of Iust Iuggement,
Mi cause I schal bi-fore ȝou prouen:
Mi hosebonde haþ my child ibrent,
I-stopped him in a glouwyng houen;
Goth seoþ, sires, bi on assent,
And I schal ȝiue ow gold to glouen.”

Boþe Meir and Baylifs wiþ folk i-fere
To þe Iewes houene ben gon.
As sone as þei þider come were,
Þe Meir Comaundet: “doþ doun þe ston.”

Þer eueri Mon wel mihte i-seo
Þe houene-Roof, þat was so round,
Hou hit was Blasyng al of bleo
As glouwyng glos, from Roof to grount.

153

Þe child sat þere boþe hol and sound,
Ne nouht I-harmet, hond ny her,
A-Midde þe gledes of þe ground,
As he seete in Cool Erber.

Þe childes Moder, whon heo þat seih,
Hire þouhte heo nas neuer er so glad;
In to þe houene heo sturte him neih,
Þus sone wiþ hire him out heo had.

And al þe peple þere present
Wondred on þat selly siht,
And heried god wiþ good entent,
ffor Miracle is more þen Monnes miht.
Hou he haþ non harmes hent
Among þe brondes þat brenneþ so briht,
Þei asken of him bi on assent.
Þe child onswered a-non-riht:

“Of alle þe Murþes þat I haue had
In al my lyf ȝit hider-to
Ne was I neuere of gleo so glad
As aftur I was In þe houene I-do!

Boþe Brondes and Gledes, trustily,
Þat weren bi-neþen vndur my fote,
As feire floures, feiþfully,
As special spices me þhouȝte hem swote;

Þe Blisful Qwen, þat Maiden Milde,
Þat sitteþ in Chirche in hih Chayer
Wiþ þat comely kyng, hire childe,
Þat Blisful Babe, on Barm heo ber,
ffrom alle þe schydes þei cunne me schilde,
ffrom gledes and brondes þat brende so cler,
ffrom alle þe flaumes þat flowen so wilde,
Þat neuer non mihte neihȝe me ner.”

Boþe Men and wymmen, al þat þer wore,
Þei herieden God hertily,
Boþe luytel and muche, lasse and more,
Of þis Miracle, witerly.

Þe Iewesse þorw hire sones sawe
Was conuertet to crist a-non;
Þe Child tok hym to cristes lawe,
And alle þe Iewes euerichon.

154

Þe Meir sat on þe Ieuh him-selue,
fforte beo Iuge of his trespas;
To siggen þe soþe i-sworen were twelue,
To ȝiuen heore verdyt in þat caas.

Þei counseiled i-vere vppon þat caas,
And comen aȝeyn bi on assent;
Þe wordes of þat verdyt was:
“In þat same houene he schulde be brent.”

Þus is endet þis stori
Of þe Miracle
I-writen a-boue.
God graunt vs Ioy
In heuene an hih,
Ihesu, for þi Moder loue.

Amen.

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

Iesu, God and Godus sone : Þat were a Babe I-boren
Of þe Mayden swete Marie : Kuynde Qween I-Coren:
As þou rayled on þe Roode : On Crois, I-Crouned of þorn,
To beete þe gultus of vre ffadres : Þat fer weren vs biforen;

And aftur þat þe þridde day : ffrom deþe þou vp a-Ros,
To leesen hem out þat weren I-punt : ffor synne in helle clos—

Þe soules, lord, þat weren in helle : Were glad of þin vp-Rys,
Wiþ þe þou laddest hem whon þou rise : To B[l]isse of Paradys;

Þe ffourtiþe day þerafturward : Þou steih to heuene an heih,
Þer þou sittest on his riht syde : Þi ffader swyþe neih;

Þeraftur þenne þe tenþe day : Þou sendest doun wiþ þi sonde
Þe holigost to þi disciples : To don hem vndurstonde
Wit and wisdam, resun and skil : To knowen þi godhede
And preche þe bileeue among þe folk : And hem to good lyf lede:

155

Wel ouhte we alle to þonke þe, lord : Of alle þi goodnes,
And eke þi Moder, swete Marie : Of whom com vre encres :

ffor riht as Eue, vre furste Moder : Of vre synnes was Roote,
Riht so of Marie, þi swete Moder : Sprong hele of al vr boote.
Þerfore we ouhten day and niht : To hauen þi Moder In Muynde,
To louen hire eke wiþ al vr miht : And seruen hire as þe kuynde.

For hose loueþ þat ladi wel : Heo gladeþ him in his greef,
Heo is solase in eueri serwe : And Medicyn in Mischeef,
In eueri serwe or seknesse ouþer : Heo is souereynest leche;
No Mon fayleþ þat studefastlych : Vre ladi wol bi-seche.

Þouȝ heo helpe nouȝt anon : Beo not þerof agast,
ffor ofte heo tarieþ of hir help : To Make Mon studefast.
Þouh heo graunte not þi bone anon : Beo þou not in despeir:
ffor, ȝif þou bidde hire studefastly : I fynde ensaumple feir,
What serwe or seknesse so þou soffre : Þorw hire þou schalt spede.
To schewe þe þat bi good ensaumple : A ffeir Miracle I Rede.

[I]n þe Cite of Viuari : A Munstre I-foundet was
In þe honour of vre ladi : Þer schewed was muchel gras:
Þer In muynde of vre ladi : Was a swete ymage,
To whuch þe peple of þat cuntre : Made gret Pilrymage:
ffor hose of serwe or seknesse hadde : Or eny oþur Mischeef,
Þorw help and socour of vre ladi : Þere he fond Releef.

Þidere come seke Mesels monye : Halte, Croked, and Blynde;
What-maner seknesse þat Mon soffred : Þer hele was wont to fynde.

156

Among al oþere þer com a Mon : I-bootned forte be,
His leg was brennyng as a fuir : ffrom fot vp to þe kne.
fful longe he dwelled in þat Cite : fforte a-byden grace,
And eueri day in hope of hele : He visited þat same place,
To Marie his boones he bed : His hele forte haue:
He felede no leggaunce of his peyne : ffor al þat he may craue;
Him þhouhte þat he died almost : ffor serwe and peyne and wo.
He was Counseyled hewe of his leg : Þen longe to suffre so.
Hym þhouȝte euere so leng so wors : While he haunted þat stude,
Þerfore riht as counseiled he was : So bi his leg he dude;
ffor al þe while he was so seek : He feled neuere lisse ne lith,
Þerfore hym þouȝte beter legles : Þen so to suffre þer-wyþ.
Whon his leg was smiten of : Þe kneo, þat was bi-laft,
He heled hit vp wiþ salues and drunches : And plastres of leche-craft.
Þerafturward whon he was hol : He haunted þe same stude,
He bad and offred to vre ladi : As he bi-fore þer dude.

But as he kneled þer on a day : His Bedes for to bidde,
Er he passet out of þe place : Þis feir Miracle bi-tidde:

[Wiþ] wepe and wringyng serufoly : To Marie he made his pleynt:
“Allas, Marie, Modur of grace : In sum synne I am Cleynt!
ffor alle þat soffren serwe and sor : Þe seke, þe Croked, þe blynde,
In eny Mischef hose preyeþ to þe : Sum grace þei may fynde,
Saue I sunful Caytyf out-cast : In þe may fynde non.”
Wiþ syk and serwe, swounyng al-most : To Marie he makeþ his mon.

And as he was in such serwyng : And mihte not stunte of wepe,

157

A-Middes alle his moste serwe : He fel riht [s]ofte on slepe.

Him þhouȝte in sweuene, a fe[i]r ladi : Hondelede hym bi þe kne
And drouh out þer-of a newe leg : As furst was wont to be.

Whon he a-wok, he groped his leg : He feled hit hol and sount,
In al his lyf neuer lihtore : Whon he wende on þe grount.

Þen alle Men mensken þe Mylde ladi : Þat seȝen þis open Miracle.
In alle Mischeues heo is Medecyn : Aȝeyn seknesse obstacle.
Þerfore good is þat eueri mon : Serue vre swete ladi;
In alle synnes and serwes eke : Heo geteþ to vs Merci.

Now, ladi Marie, qween of heuene : And Emperisse of helle,
Help vs þat we mowe wiþ þe : ffor euere In Ioye dwelle!

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

At Constantynnoble in þat Cite
Dwelled a Marchaunt of herte fre,
Sumtyme was riche, ful of lewte,
And after fel in pouerte;
And, as þe Bokes telles vs,
He was i-clept Teodorus.
He louede god and vre ladi,
And serued þat Mayden speciali.
And in þat Cite, soþliche,
A Ieuh þer dwelled, was wonder Riche;
In his lay he hedde good name,
He was I-clepet Abrahame.
Theodorus he louede wele,
Gret lykyng hedde wiþ him to dele.
Theodorus hedde þouht and care,
ffor he nedde not wiþ to chaffare;

158

He caste him þerfore to borwe.
To þe Ieuh he wente a-Morwe;
Þer he told him his Mischeef
And preiede hym of sum Releef,
Of his Gold him for to lene,
And þus to hym he gon hym mene.
Þe Ieuh onswerde wiþ gret honour:
“Loke hou þou maiht make me seur
Me to paye at certeyn day,
And þe to helpe I schal assay.”
Theodorus seide: “icham be-hynde,
ffor me þer wol no Mon hym bynde;
He þat sum-tyme was my fere
Me passeþ bi wiþ-outen chere.
But ȝif þou dorstest be so hardi
To take vr ladi seinte Mari
ffor my Borw, be Mi ffay,
I schulde þe pay wel at þi day.”
Þe Ieuh seide: “my goode feere,
I graunte þe, sire, þi preyere,
ffor I haue herd ofte-siþe
Þat ladi is Corteis and Bliþe,
Men seiþ heo wol hem neuer fayle
Þat in hire seruise wol trauayle.
Þerfore go we in to ȝour chirche,
And þer þis forward we wol worche;
Þer is an ymage of hire iliche,
A-Rayed wel wiþ Iuweles Riche:
Tac þou hire me þer bi þe hond!
Of þe kep i non oþur bond.”

Whon he hed seid, þei gonne to gon.
To þat churche þei comen anon.
Theodorus In good Manere
Kneled a-doun, bad his preyere,
And aftur þat wiþ good visage
Went hym vp to þat ymage,
And tok hit bi þat on hond,
And bad þe Ieuh scholde to him fond,
And seide: “sire, so god me saue,
ffor my Borwh þis ladi haue,

159

Þat i schal paye þe at my day
Treweliche and wel al þi Monay
Þat þou schalt me nou take,
Al my disese wiþ to slake.”

Þe Ieuh him tok a summe of gold,
Good Moneye and wel I-told,
And sette hym þer a certeyn day
Him to paye hit wiþ-oute delay.

Þe Cristen Mon þen was ful fayn,
Þey wenten hom ful fayn a-ȝayn.
And he arrayed him ful fast
A schip wiþ seil and eke a Mast:

To Alysaundre he gon sayle.
Þer he a-Ryued wiþ-outen fayle.
Þenne he bouȝte faste and solde,
And eueri day þe pons tolde
He won faste day by day.
Þe ȝeer passed sone a-way.
He þouhte so muche on his wynnyng
ffor-ȝat þe day of his paȝyng,
Til þe Euen was I-comen
A-Morwe schulde paye þat he hedde nomen.

Hit fel in to his Muynde þon
He schulde bi holde a fals Mon;
To þat Cuntre so fer a-twynne
In so schort while miht he not wynne
fforte holde his day of paye.
Bote to vr ladi he gon to praye
Hym to counseyle and to rede
What mihte þenne be his beste spede;
And cast hit in herte outurly
To truste in god and vre ladi.
He tok hym þenne a luytel kyst,
Þer-Inne he putte, þat no wiht wist,
Þe summe of gold, verreyment,
Þat þe Ieuh hedde hym I-lent,
And a lettre, þat seide þus:
“Þis to Abraham Ieuh sent Theodorus;”
Aftur þat, wiþ his hond
Aboute wiþ Iren he hit bond,

160

In to þe séé þen he hit cast,
Preied vr ladi ben Schip and Mast,
Hit to saue In Godes nam
To þe Ieuh Abraham.

Þe Ieuh a-Ros vppon þe Morn,
As I ow telle, wiþ-oute scorn,
And stilliche forþ gon he stalke
To þe séé-syde, þer forte walke,
Þat Ebbet and flowed faste bi his house
Þer he dwellede and his spouse.
Soone he was war wel I-nouh
Of a Cofre, touward hym drouh,
ffloterynge in þat salte séé.
Gret wonder he hedde what hit miȝt be.
fful sone to hym he hit vp nom,
Vndur his arm he bar hit hom.
he fond þer-Inne, verrement,
Þe gold þat he hedde furst and lent;
Beo þe lettre he wuste also
ffrom what Mon þat hit com fro.
He caste hit þenne in to an Ark,
Þat was boþe styf and stark.
To telle þerof no wiht him luste,
But wente him forþ as no wiht wuste.

Longe afturward in Godes nome
Theodorus was comen home.
Wiþ him þer mette mony on
Þat him welcomede swiþe son.

Wiþ Abraham þe Ieuh he mette,
fful Corteysliche he hym grette
And þonked hym of his fordede,
And preied god schulde quite his Mede.

þe Ieuh seide þo: “so mot I þe,
I trouwe þat þou scorne me;
Whi hast þou broken þi terme-day
Of þe payȝement of Mi Monay?”

Theodorus seide: “þou wost wel,
I haue þe payed eueridel;
I take my Borwh to my witnesse,
I owe þe nouþer More no lesse;

161

Go we to churche boþe i-fere,
And þer þe soþe þou schalt here.”
“I graunte wel,” quaþ þe Iewe;
“But þou me paye þou schalt hit rewe!”

Þe Iew made hit wonder touh
And wende hit hedde beo good I-nouh.
Whon þei were bi-fore þat ymage
Þat for þe gold was mad his gage,

Theodorus seide wiþ Mylde steuene:
“Ladi, as þou art qween of heuene,
Help me nou from worldly schome,
I preye þe in þi sones nome;
Þou wost wel, ladi, þer þou sist,
I putte þe gold in to a kist
And, to þis Ieuh þat hit schulde wende,
I preyed þe hit to him sende.
As I truste on þi sone and þe,
Ladi, þe soþe scheuh for me.”

Þe ymage spac, as god hit wolde,
And seide: “Ieuh, þou hast þi golde,
And in þe botme of þyn ark
Þer þou hast leid eueri Mark.”

Þe Iewh wox a-schomed þo
And graunted wel þat hit was so.
Alle þat leeued on his lay
A-schomed weren þat ilke day.
Þer he hedde saumple bi good dome
Cristene mon forte bi-come.—

Þis ladi is ful gracius,
Þat þenkeþ euere þus on vs.
Þerfore to hire loke þou be trewe,
And chaunge we hire not for non newe!
Heo wole vs helpe in vre Mischeef
In þis world to vs Releef,
And afturward wiþ-outen mis
Geten vs heuene-riche blis
Þorw þe grace of hire sone,
Wiþ him þere forte wone.
And þat hit mote so be
Seiþ alle AMen, Par charite.

AMEN.

162

VII. [Of a prest þat lay by a nonne.]

In Bok we fynde, as we Rede,
Of a preest, was wylde of dede,
Þat was I-wounde in mony a vice,
But at þe laste he was not nyce
And to synne so wel dude wone
Þat wiþ a Nonne he hedde to done.
Þerof wolde he him not schryue
Til þat he schulde lete þe lyue.
Ȝit he serued vre Ladi
Day bi day ful specialy,
Matyns and vres day Bi day
Of hire he seide wiþ-oute delay.
At þe laste he fel seek,
And schulde be ded as we schulen ek.

Vr ladi þat he hedde in Reuerence
Wolde he schulde clanse his Concience,
And þat hym fel riht wel in Mynde,
A trusti frend ȝif he mihte fynde.
A prest þer was he louede wel,
He tolde his lyf to Eueridel;
He sykede sore and criede Merci
Þat god schulde on him haue pite forþi,
And for his synnes was sori.
He preyed þe prest ful feiþfuli
Þat, as þei hedden be felawes long,
He schulde þenken on him a-mong
His Masse and his Almes-dede,
Þat God mihte quite hym his Mede
And þat his soule þat was vngeyne
Þe sannore mihte passe out of peyne.
Þat oþer, þat he wolde, he seide.
After he dyȝede, In eorþe was leyde.

Þe prest forsoþe for-ȝat hym nouht,
But euere hedde hym in his þouht,
Al þat ȝeer, day Bi day,
He song his Masse, as I ow say,

Þat O day he song of vre Ladi,
Þat oþer of Requiem, sikerli.

163

Al þe ȝer þis Charge he nom.
Atte laste his Mynde-day com.
As he stod at his Masse þo,
After þe sacryng In Memento,

He sauh stonden him bi-fore
Þe ffeireste ladi þat euere was bore,
Vppon þe Auter þer he stod.
Heo seide to him wiþ Mylde Mod:
“Þou hast me trauaylet wiþ þi preyere,
Now at þis tyme to ben here.
As þou hast preyed in þi Messe,
I haue geten forȝiuenesse
To þi felawe of my sone dere
Of al þat euere he mis-dude here;
Of his peyne he is releset,
And his Ioye schal ben encreset;
Lo wher he kneleþ þe bi-hynde:
To ben I-hoselet he haþ in Mynde.”

Þe prest torned hym softely
And sauh him knele faste by;
Anon wiþ godes Bodi
Hoselde him deuoutli.

Þen sauh þe prest vr ladi þer
Come a-doun of þat Auter
And take his felawe bi þe honde,
Out of þe Chirche forte fonde.
Of þis siht he was ful fayn,
And tornede to his Masse a-ȝayn;
Þerof þenne he made an ende,
Preyed god grace him to sende
Þorw preyere of his Moder dere,
So to lyuen and to don here,
After þis world þat is al wast
To haue þe blisse þat euer schal last.—

Wel are we holden day and niht
Worschipen hire wiþ al vr miht
Þat euer is so redi diht
To bringen vs alle to heuene-liht.
And þat hit mote so be,
Seyeþ to hire an Aue!

164

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

A mon of gret deuociun
Was sum-tyme in Religiun,
Þe Bok seiþ he was a Monk,
And in godes seruise swonk;
To vr ladi he was deuout,
Hire to serue euer was a-bout.
Whon he herde of hire eny speche,
Of al his dissese þat was his leche,
Þat hedde he leuere þen drinke or ete,
ffor Ioye þe teres wolde he lete.
Of oþer þinges rouht he nouht,
So swete on hire was his þouht.

Þat tyme riht as men doþ floures
Men gederede furst Matines and vres
Þat men vsen now of vre ladi,
And seiden hem deuoutly;
Whose mihte hem þenne gete,
His (!) was holde for Miracle grete.

Þis Monk hem hedde, I ow say,
And seide hem riht wel eueri day,
And mony a special preyere
Þat men han mad of hire here.
Atte laste, as hit schulde falle,
Þe Monkes þrote grete swalle,
Men called þat vuel Comuynli,
Þat he hedde, þe Qwinaci.
His vuel bi-gon so to encrese,
Wiþ-outen eny relece,
Þat al þat þer abouten stood
Seide he was ded, bi þe Rood!
But neuer-þeles hit was not so.
Vre ladi com to hym þo,
As he tolde aftur mony a Mon,
His leche to ben, as heo wel con;
Wiþ hire pappe in to his Mouþ
Milk heo spreynt, þat is selcouþ!
And seide to him: “Mi seruaunt swete,
I am comen þi bale to bete;

165

Wiþ my seruauns haue I be, lo:
Þat Made me beo so longe þe fro.
Beo not a-ferd, þou schalt not dye,
I schal þe hele of Maladye,
Þi feire þrote þat me haþ serued
I schal not soffre beo ouer-torned,
Þy vois þat þou dest wiþ me grete
At þis tyme schaltou not forlete,
And, for ichaue ben longe from þe,
Þe sannore schaltou heled be.”
Vnder his nekke heo putte hire Arm,
Wiþ hire swete fyngres stroked his harm.
Þe swellyng slaked, he feld no sore.
He set him vp anon-riht þore.
Hym þouȝte verreliche i-nouh
Þat heo aweiward from hym drouh:
And after hire faste he rauhte,
But he hire take mihte nauhte.

Þen he cried an heih al oute
To hem þat weren hym aboute:
“Vn-Corteis folk ȝe ben, I-wis,
Whi worschiped ȝe not þe queen of Blis,
AMong ou alle a space i-lete
Þat þe ladi mihte haue sete?
Ne seih ȝe nouht hou louh heo went,
Wiþ þe dost wel neih be-schent,
ffor to salue me of my sore
Whon my lyf was wel neih lore?
Wiþ ȝor noise, ȝe folk vn-þriue,
Out of þis hous ȝe han hire driue.”
Þerwiþ he wepte for Ioye wel glad;
And euer was hire seruaunt sad,
Worschuped hire Corteis and hende
Euer to his lyues ende.—

Oþur help or oþur leche
Vs nedeþ not no forþere seche
But Mari, Modur and Maiden clene,
In heuene þat is so briht and schene.
Preye we, heo preye hire sone Ihesus
Þat euere he haue Merci on vs,

166

Þat to his blisse he take vs to
Þat is and schal ben euer-mo.

Amen.

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

A sexteyn was in an Abbey
Of þe Ordre of Monkes grey,
Þat louede to worschipe vr ladi;
But fallen he was In lecheri.
Whon his Breþren were to bedde i-gon,
He wolde gon as stille as ston
Out of Cloystre on his wilde-hede,
fforte parfourne his misdede.
Þauh he hiȝed faste for his Corage,
Euere he wolde grete þe ymage
Þat in þe chirche was mad of vre ladi,
As ofte as he passed hit by.

Hit bi-fel vppon a niht,
To his walk he hedde hym diht,
Bi þat ymage passed he
And grette hit wiþ an Aue.
Vnder þe Abbeye a water Ron,
Þer-ouer was a Brugge of ston:
Ouer þat Brugge lay his pas.
But him bi-fel a wondur cas:
As a mon þat hedde ben a-teynt
He fel a-doun and was I-dreynt.

Þer comen ffendes fers and felle
To fecche his soule in to helle.

A Cumpaygnye of Angeles swete
Þorw Godus pite dude wiþ him mete,
Ȝif þei mihte þorw godus gras
Helpe þe soule of sum solas.

Þe ffendes criȝeden sone anon:
“Ȝe wiþ þis soule haue nouȝt to don,
He is Iugget wiþ vs to gon
ffor þe Misdedes þat he haþ don.”

Þe Angeles al astoneyet were,
ffor þei mihte schewe no good werk þere
Wherfore þei mihte him calange

167

And wiþ hem lede forþ in heore range.
But as þei stonden alle a-gast,
Þer com vre ladi swiþe fast.

Heo seide: “þis soule whi haue ȝe take,
Ȝe foule ffendes blo and Blake?”
Þei onswerde sone schortly:
“ffor he diede sodeynly
Wiþ-outen eny gode dede;
Þerfore we schulen him quite his mede.”

Vr ladi seide: “ȝe sey falsly;
Whon-euer he went and passed me bi,
He grette me wiþ an Aue,
And þus he tok leue of me,
Als euere he, whon he com a-ȝeyn,
To sey an Aue he was fayn.
Ȝe schul not sei we take hym ow fro
Wiþ strengþe ne Manas ner-þe-Mo:
Put we hit In þe Iuggement
Of þe heiȝe kyng, verreyment.”

As þei þus striuen I-fere,
Þorw Maries Mylde prey[er]e
Hit lyked God, of alle souereyn,
Þe soule to þe bodi wende a-ȝeyn,
Þat he mihte here him-self aMende,
Til god wolde aftur hym sende.

His breþeren þat slepten in here wyse
Weren awaked and wolden aryse,
Gret wonder þei hedden hem among
Whi þe sexsteyn was so long. . . [OMITTED]

168

XXX. De festo corporis cristi.

Ȝe lewede Men, takeþ hede—
ffor þeos clerkes haþ non nede
Þat I hem opene þis latyn,
ffor heo hit conne wel a-fyn,

169

ffor holy Churche hit singeþ meste,
Nomeliche of þis newe feste.
Ac noþeles hit is ful olde
Þat Dauid in þe psauter tolde:
ffor þis is þe latyn þat Dauid sede
Þat “Mon ete Angeles Brede;”
And þat is soþ, for so hit wes
Þe tyme of þe prophete Moyses.
[He] was in Egipte in gret truage,
And godus folk in foul seruage,
Vnder þe kyng Pharaon
Þer was mony a þousund mon.
Longe hit were al to telle;
But atte laste hit þus bifelle
Þat god nolde soffre hit no more
His owne folk in þraldam wore,
And god bad Moyses he scholde fle
Wiþ his folk þorwh þe Rede séé.

Þo Moyses to þe séé com,
Al druye his folk wiþ hym he nom:
Þe séé stod vp-riht as a wal,

170

Til þei weore I-passed al.

Kyng Pharao him suwed faste
Wiþ his Chares and his hoste;
And whon þei weore alle in þe séé,
God torned heore strengþe a-ȝe,
So þat þei were ouer-seynt,
And he and alle hise weren i-dreynt.

In þis place hit mai beo sede
Þat mon ete Angeles brede:
Þat tyme þat Moyses ladde þus
His grete host In wildernus
God dude lete reyne a-doun
As hit were flour gret foysun,
Manna, so hit is I-write,
And is I-clept Angeles Mete.
Heo hit gedrede and liueden þerbi,
And sunged sore I wol telle ou whi:
Þei gederde more, for drede of brede,
Þen vche day þei hedde to nede;
And hit nolde not ben on Morwe
fforte kepe ne for to Borwe.

171

Ich holde þis a badde store
To vche Mokerere þat biddeþ more
Of Catel þen he haþ to nede
His owne Meyne forte fede;
He buggeþ Corn aȝeyn þe ȝere
And kepeþ hit til hit beo dere.
“Þer-of he doþ wysliche,
Ȝif he departe hit skilfulliche.”

Nay, forsoþe, þenkeþ he nouht
To pore men parten ouht;
Bouȝte he neuere so good chepe,
He reweþ nout þe pore wepe;
He ne rouhte how al þe world ȝode,
So þat his owne bi-ȝete were goode.
ffor þis is þe Mokereres onswere:
“Goþ or wey, Corn is dere!”

And forsoþe, wiþ-oute gabbe,
Þe same onswere he schal habbe
Whon alle þe Angeles in heuene beoþ
And alle on eorþe þat þoleþ deþ
Schul ben at a parlement:

172

Þen þe Mokerere schal be schent;
Þer he schal vbbreyded beo
Of God him-self, þat is al freo,
In what manere he haþ spent
Þe godus þat God on eorþe him lent.
Þere god him-self schal ȝiue þe dome—
He may beo adred er he þer come;
ffor þis is þe word þat God wol say
To þe Mokerere at Domes-day,
And Certeynliche to non oþur mon
But to þe wrecche Mokerere þon:
“I hungred whon þou wernedest me mete;
I was a-ffurst, I coude not gete;
Herborweles, þou me forsoke;
Seek, in prisun, þou ne come me to loke;
A-Cold, Cloþeles also,
Naked þou me lette go:
Þerfore, Mokerere, þou wende to helle,
Wiþ alle þe deuelen þer euere to dwelle.”

Þe wrecche Mokerere onswere schal þan
“Lord, whon sauh we þe neodi Man?”

173

“Ȝus, whon ȝe warned þe leste of myne,
Ȝe warned hit me wel a-fyne;”
And þere hem tit heore onswere:
“Goþ to helle, for heuene is dere.”
At Domes-day þe meste schennes
Hit falleþ vppon þe nyþinges;
ffor þei neuermore wole hem schryue
Þat þei weore niþinges in heore lyue,
But euere heore onswere hit is þus
“We ȝiuen more þen men ȝiuen vs.”—

Torne we to vre gospelle,
Of þe folk of Ysraelle,
Hou þei gedrede Angeles brede
More þen þei hedde to nede.
Þerfore god wroþ was
Þat þei trist not to his gras,
And let hem dye; and were I-slay
ffourti þousund on a day,
ffor þat gult and oþur eke,
And godus heste þat þei breke;
Þat of sixe [hundred] and twenti þousende—
Þus muche was þe noumbre to toknynge—
Þat þer come non to londe freo
Saue tweyne, Calef and Iosue—

174

And of þulke tweyne com al þe strene
Of vre ladi, heuene-Qweene.—

Now is wel sene to-day
Þat he loueþ vs more þen þay.
ffor he ne sende hem but Angel brede,
Þat lasteþ but a day to nede,
He haþ send us a Ricchor sonde:
His owne bodi, ich vndurstonde,
Þat wol laste euere þe soule wiþ-Inne
Whil þou art out of dedly synne.
Þat was I-pyned for vre nede
To-day þou seost In ffourme of brede.
And þauh I wol ȝow schewe and telle
Beo þis ensaumple hou hit bi-felle,
Þat is writen In þe Legent
Of þi[s] holy sacrament.

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

A Iew sum tyme and a Cristene mon
Were felawes in þe wey vppon.
And bi þe wey, as riht was,
Þe Cristene Mon herde Rynge to Mas.
Þe Cristene Mon seide: “a-byd me here,
Whil I go to my preyere!”

175

Þe cristene mon wente in to þe churche.
And þe Iew bi-gon to grucche,
ffor hym þhouȝte his felawe was
To longe biddinge atte Mas.

Þe Iew ros vp and forþ ede
In to þe Churche, to take hede.
Þen sauh he atte weuede
Þe Prest holde ouer his heuede
A ffeir child, I-woundet sore
In ffot, in hond; ȝit sauh he more
Þat þer nas nouþur wyf nor mon
Of alle þat in þe Chirche were on
Þat ne helde vp here hondes and sat on kne;
And from þat child sauh come fle
Anoþur such as he sauh stonde,
A[nd] lihte bi-twene vche monnes honde.

Þe Ieuh a-Bod, til þe Prest
Vsede þe Eukarist,
Þen sauh he him ete þe child
Þat he bi-twenen his hondes held;
And al þat weore in þe churche þermide
Þe Ieuh þhouȝte þat so heo dude.
Þe Ieuh was agrise and wente him hyde
Þer his felawe him bad abyde,
And bi him-self he seide þan:
“A grisly lyf haþ Cristen Man!”

176

Þe Cristene Mon aftur þe mas
Com to þe stude þer þe Iew was.

Þe Ieuh asked: “hou farestou?”

Þe Cristene mon seide: “better þen þou;
ffor siþen ichaue my god seye,
Þe lihtore ich holde al my weye.”

Þe Iew seide: “beo my scolle,
Wel ouhte þi wombe be fulle!
Hedde I so muchel I-ȝete,
Þis þreo dayes nolde I no mete.”

“fforsoþe,” quaþ þe cristene mon,
“To-day sayȝ I siht of non,
Non eorþliche kunnes mete
Þat my Mouþ mihte ete.”

“Let beo! I sauh wiþ myn eȝen two
Where þou and oþur mo,
Vche of ow heold a child blodie,
And siþen ȝe eten hit, I nul not lye;
Wherfore i seye þat oure lawe
Is not good.” bi þat sawe

Þe Cristen mon bi-gon to beo wroþ;
“Þou lyest, Iew, þou art me loþ;
Ȝoure lawe is fals, and so ȝe ben,
Ȝe wol not leeue but þat ȝe sen.
Þerfore al-one I go þe bi,
I kepe no more þi cumpaygni.”

177

Þe Iew seide: “ffelawe, greef þe nouht
Þeih I telle þe what I sayh and þouht,
Ac tel me bi sum oþur preue
Wher-bi I may þe soþe leue!”

“Þis is þe skile,” quaþ þe Cristene man,
“Þat god nout soffreþ þe þan
Þat þou seȝe wiþ þin eȝe
Þe sacremens þat ben so sleȝe,
Þat his fflesch mihte so ben hud
To vs cristene wiþ-inne þe bred.
And þy kun made hym dye,
Þerfore al blodi þou hym seȝe.”

“ffelawe,” quaþ þe Iew þon,
“Help þat I were a Cristene mon;
ffor leuere ichaue cristned ben
Þen euere seo such a siht aȝen.”

Þo was þe Iew cristned, and oþur mo,
ffor þe Miracle þat fel þo.—
Þis Bred þat is godus flesch,
What feiror preue wolde men esch
Þat vche part is godus entere?
Þeih hit weore parted in þreo quartere,
And þeih hit weore an hundred dole,
Vche part is his bodi al hole.

And þat loke bi skile, lo here:
Bi-hold þi-self in a schewere:

178

Þou ne sest but onliche þi faas,
Þe while al hol is þe glaas;
And brek þe glas in two or þre,
And so moni formes þou miht se.—
Beo þe makyng of þe oblee
Wel and skilfoliche me may se
Of wȝuche we make Godus fflesch,
Þis is þe saumple whose wol esch.

Hit is maad beo seuen skiles
Aȝeyn þe seuene dedly synnes:

Aȝeyn Lecherie hit is whit,
Þat was Blak and stynkynge euere ȝit.

Hit is þunne a-ȝeyn Glotenye,
Þat al to muche wole swolewye.

Hit is round and liht to þrowe,
Aȝeyn Sleuþe, þat makeþ men slowe.

Of swete whete mad hit is,
Aȝeyn Wraþþe, þat is bitternis.

Hit is mad wiþ-oute leueyn:
Aȝeyn Envye hit stont aȝeyn,
ffor Envye makeþ Men swelle
Whon he seoþ eny spede welle.

Hit is also wiþ-oute Bryn
Or eny oþur Corn þer-In:

179

Hit is a-ȝeyn Couetyse,
Þat ne reccheþ In what wyse
Eny catel vndurfonge,
Beo hit Riht beo hit wronge.

Hit is þerto clene and luyte,
Aȝeyn Pruide, þat euer ȝute
Wolde beo gret and heiȝ of wille,
As Lucifer, þat furst felle
ffor his Pruide out of heuene.
Do we þis Bred aȝeyn þis seuene!

And hou hit furst com and ede
Þat mon ete Angeles Brede,
Hit is liht soþ to telle,
ffor vche cristene mon wot hit welle.
Þe laste soper wiþ-outen wene
Was I-mad atte Ceene,
And God bad þe Apostles do so
Whon he weore to heuene I-go;
“Do þis in þe muynde of me;
I go and come to ow a-ȝe.”
Of þe Apostles þat God sent
[tok] holichurche þe sacrament.—

180

Þat is to siggen, eukarist
As goode grace com from crist.
Wel may we seyen hit is good grace
Whon hit is wardeyn in godus place!
And grace is betere þen nature,
Whose þerto wol take cure.—
I rede þe mon be in good entent
Whose takeþ þis grace in sacrement:

Seint poul seiþ, and siggen I may,
In þe pistel of to-day:
“Whose vnworþiliche ȝode
To fonge Godus fflesch and blode,
Þere he fongeþ his owne dome”—
Allas, hit falleþ so to lome!
Þerfore poul seiþ bi þat halue:
“he demeþ not God, he demeþ him-selue.”
In þulke whose i-take be,
Schal he neuere beo dampned a-ȝe;
Ȝif we vre owne dom take,
What oþur dom schal God vs make?
Þerfore make ow alle Redi
To take hit not as fool-hardi.—

181

Þeih seint Poul vs þrete þus,
Vr lord hym-self, swete Ihesus,
Þis day in Markes gospelle
To his disciples he gon telle,
And to þe Iewes þat were ryue:
“I am my-self Bred of lyue.
“Mi fflesch soþfast mete is,
And my Blod verrey drinke, iwis.
Whos eteþ mi flesch and drinkeþ my blode,

I wone wiþ hym and he wiþ me.
Mi ffader me sent and so I ȝode,

To lyue for hym and he for me:
So whose me eteþ, for me schal libbe.

Þis is þe Bred þat from heuene come,
Not lyk Manna, þat flour be sibbe,

Þei þat hit ete, weore dede bi dome,
And hose eteþ of þis brede,

He schal liue wiþ-outen ende.”
Ihesu, graunt vs so to spede

Wiþ þulke bred to heuene wende.

Amen.

Off þulke Bred in þe gospelle
Seint Ion we here þus telle:

182

Þat ȝif we ne ete of þulke brede
Ne drynke his blood, vr lyf were dede.—
And þeih we ete hit al þus here,
Hit is in heuene al entere.
So schaltou leeue, Cristene mon,
Þat in no weere þi leue beo on!
ffor þi feiþ tit no mede
Where þing of deþ takest hede;
Hit is inpossyble to serue crist
But þi be-leeue beo good and trist.
And eȝe of feiþ hit is ful kene
Þat seoþ a siht þat is not sene.
Þerfore alle þing þat we [ne] seoþ
Leeue we as holychirche deþ,
ffor þat I holde þe rihte fey
And to heuene þe nexte wey.—

To telle more I mot nede
Hou men ete Angeles Brede.
Of ffoles I herde herby-fore
Þat wyse men toke of hem heore lore,
And so a sek mon mihte teche
A good skile perauenture bifore a leche.
Þis Bred mihte neuermore be spende
Til God hym-self on eorþe hit sende,
To saue mon fro pyne of helle,
So þat he kepe hit welle.

Sum tyme such lawe þer was
Þat vche sonday after mas

183

Eueri trewe wyf and Mon
Schulde be hoseled or þei eode þon. . . .
And þat for þis enchesun,
I wol ow telle for what resun:

On was, for þat folk mis-bere
Hem-selue, whon þei hoseled were.

Þe toþer was, for þe grete trauayle
Þat holy churche hedde be þat entayle,
In nome of þat for Godus drede
Me ȝiueþ nou þe holy Brede.

Þerfore þe pope ordeyned, þries in þe ȝere
Vche mon I-hoseled were;
And bote he were ones atte leste,
Þe pope Comaundet be his heste
Þulke bodi þat so ne dede
Schuld neuer be buried in holy stude.
Þerfore beo redi, I ow Rede,
fforte fonge Angeles Brede.
And beo þis Bred I wol ȝou telle
A luytel ensaumple hou hit bi-felle.

De manu sacerdotis per hostiam penetrata.

Be-fel sum tyme In Engelonde,
Þer was a prest, ich vndurstonde,

184

Þat ladde not his lyf, as was tolde,
Also clanliche as he scholde.
God wolde he scholde hym amende,
And he hym a strong vuel gon sende,
So, he wende almost to dye.
And on a day þis siht he seȝe:
A child boþe he seih and herde,
And asked hym hou he ferde;
In his hond bret-ful he beere
Of bernynge Obeleis a paniere.

Þe prest asked: “what is þat,
And þou þat askest of my stat?”
He seide: “Ich am Godes Messagere,
And þeos Obeleis þat ben here,
Þus monye vnworþily þou fong,
Whon þat þou þi Masse song;
And ȝif þat þou nult I-leue me,
Scheuh forþ þyn hond, and þou schalt se.”

Þe prest heold forþ his hond anon,
And þe child tok vp on
Of þe obeleys þat were so rede,
And pult hit in þe prestes hond amidde.
Hit fel þorwh þe prestes hond on,
And þe child a-wey gan gon.

Þe prest let men come hym to
And tolde hem whi he ferde so:

185

“Lo,” quaþ he, “hou I am diht!
Who sauh euere such a siht?”
Þat þorw his hond me mihte se
As brod as was þat obele.
And he not I-maymed nas,
And afturward song mony a Mas,
And an hole þorwh his hond—
Þus þat soþe men hit fond.
After for a þousend pound of golde
Þe prest no more synne wolde,
But serued god wiþ gret drede,
And afturward to heuene ȝede.—

I holde þe Mon more þen mad
Þat takeþ þis bred and nis not drad
Of þe wreche þat mihte bi-falle.
So worþi bred hit is wiþ-alle
Þat for þe miht of þulke word
Þat god seide at his owne bord,
Þe same miht þat word haþ here,
To torne þe bred in oþur manere,

186

And to torne þe wyn in blode,
Þe same þat was sched on Rode.
Þe wordus perauenture I coude telle,
Ac I am not worþi and þerfore I nelle.

Ac oþur makyng of þe Mas
I dar wel telle hou hit was.
Þe Apostles seide no more
But what þei herde of cristes lore—
No more to þe masse nolde þei do,
And þe paternoster to,
vppe þe bred and vppe þe wyn—
And so hem þhouȝt hit good and fyn.
Non oþur vestimens vsud þay
But as þei wereden vche day;

187

And in vessels of treo—
Non oþur chalys hedden heo.
Þenne þe pope vrban,
Þat was a ful holy man,
Ordeynde þat þe Chalys scholde
Ben of seluer or of golde,
Wiþ a patin, to hule ouer al,
Maked of þe same Metal.
Þe pope Celestyne, ordeyned he,
A psalme Men clepeþ Iudica me
Þat vche prest þat is and was
Schulde siggen hit er he eode to Mas.
Þe Nyne kyries þat ben in Boke
Þe pope Siluestre of gru hem toke.
Þer-aftur comeþ Gloria in excelsis:
Þe Angeles of heuene furst song þis;
Of seint hillari þat was
Erche-bisschop of peytas,
He made from laudamus te
Þe remenaunt þen synge we.

188

Þenne þe pope Tollophornus,
And þat oþur pope Cynacus,
Bi-twene hem boþe ordeyned was
To synge þe Gloria to þe Mas . . . .
He hit Confermede, pope Gregori,
And made þerto þe Offertori.
Þenne þe pope Anastasius
Comaundet in lawe riht þus:
Þat no mon schulde sitte, he beede,
Whil þe gospel were to Rede.
Constantinus þe pope made þe crede,
fforte siggen hit he bede.
Pope Steuene and pope Clemens
Ordeyned þe holy vestimens.
Pope Ciluester ordeyned þe Corporas,
In tokne þat godus bodi was
In clene lynnen cloþ I-wounde
Þat tyme þat Iosep hit founde

189

In his owne toumbe of ston
And leyde a-noþur gret vppon.
Þenne þe Pope Leouns
Made alle þe Prefaciuns.
Alisaundre þe Pope ordeynde þis:
To do watur and wyn In þe Chalis,
In tokne þat boþe com watur and blode
Of Godus syde on þe Roode;
Þe blood bi-tokneþ þat he vs bouht,
Þe watur bi-tokneþ vre ffullouht.
Sixtus þe Pope ordeynde vs
Þryȝes to synge Sanctus.
Þe Pope made þe Canoun þer,
And God made þe Pater noster.
[A]nd hou and what-maner bi-felle
Þat God made þe paternoster, I wol telle.
His Apostles seide hym on a day:
“Teche vs, lord, how we schul pray.”
And seint Ion haþ tauht vs þis—
Þat is on of his disciples—

190

Þat Ihesus tauhte hem þis preyer
And bad hem seyen þe Pater noster.
And þus muchel to seyen hit is:
“Vr ffadur þat in heuene is,
Halewed mot þy nome beo.
And to þi kyngdam þat we teo.
Þi wille in heuene and eorþe beo do.
Vre vche-dayes bred send vs to.
And vre dettes for-ȝiue vs,
As we for-ȝiue vre dettours.
And lede vs in no fondynge,
But saue us from vche vuel þinge. Amen.”
Off þe holigost þe seuen ȝiftis
In þe pater noster I-touched is;
Of whuche to God þer touched þre,
And foure in on to þe.
Þis preyere, þeih hit beo schorte,
But hit beo seid wiþ a clene herte,
Hit is a-ȝein þulke man
Þat in his herte wraþþe haþ tan.

191

Þenne þe pope Innocent,
Pax domini he ordeynt,
Þat vche mon schulde cusse oþur
And holden him for suster and broþur;
In tokne þat god made pes wiþ man,
Þerfore þat pes is ȝiuen þan.
Þe laste word of þis heiȝe fest
Is I-seid Ite Missa est,
Þis is to seye “hit is i-sent
To heuene for vs, þis sacrament”;
Bi-fore þe holy Trinite
Þe furste part of þe þre,
Þat oþur for hem þat þoleþ deþ,
Þe þridde for hem þat alyue beþ.—
Hit is riȝt þat furst inempned be
Vr ladi in þe Canone:
ffor God of hire þat flesch toke
Þat neuer cristen mon forsoke;
Þat flesch he haþ take þe to fede,
Þat is i-cleped Aungel Brede.

192

Þe twelue Apostles I-nempned beþ,
ffor heore prechynge þei þolede deþ—
As þing i-sent ben þe Apostles,
And Martires ben þe Apostles witnes;
And alle þe Martires þat weore dede
ffor þei weore witnesse of þis Brede,
Þat God diȝede for loue of vs,
And þei for loue of Ihesus.
Petur and Andrew, Philip, þeos þreo
weore don vppon þe Rode-treo.
Poul, Iames, and Mathew
Were be-heuedet, and Bartholomew
Was huld al naked quike
ffor his witnesse of þis onlike.
And þat oþur Iamus,
Symon, and Taddeus,
Heore senewes for cristen lawe
Out of heore bodi were i-drawe.

193

And seint Ion þe Ewangelist,
Þat was sib to Ihesu crist,
He dronk venym, to make preue
Þat we han of þe rihte be-leeue.

And seint Thomas Didimus,
He was þorwh-stiked Riht þus.

Þer-aftur comeþ þe xij Martiris
Þat in þe Canoun Rikned is;

Of whuche summe Popes were,
Summe Bisschops þat Mitre beere,

Summe Dekenes þat weore half prest,
Summe lewede þat leeuede on crist—
ffor alle Ordres and alle degres
To þis sacrement bereþ witnes.

Leouns, Clemens, and Cletus,
Sixtus, and Cornelius,
Þeose weore Popus, þat þolede deþ
ffor þulke Bred þat we nou seoþ.

Ciprian was Bisschop of Cartiginus.
Stephene, Laurence, Vincent weore Dekenus.

194

Grisogon, Ion and Paulus,
Þei weore in heore lyue knihtus;

Cosma and Damianus,
Þei weore leches, I-writen is þus.

Cecili, and Agnes, and Agace
Diede for þis bred of grace.
Þerfore is riht heore nomes to be
Nempned in þe Canone:
ffor alle þeos diȝede In good entent
ffor to Meyntyme þe sacrament.—

Þe sacrament mot þe soule fede
Þat is i-hote Angeles Brede.
Ȝif þou worþiliche hit fonge,
Hit schal kepe þe þus longe,
ffrom þulke day þat þou ded be
Til þi bodi rise a-ȝe;
And þenne boþe bodi and soule i-fere
Schal wende to þe graunt Mangere
Where neuer-more tit no nede
To non eorþliche Brede,
But þe siht of þe Trinite

195

Schal euermore þi fode be.
Seþþhe we han þe Modur to preye þe sone,
We han þe sone to prey þe ffader,
Þe holygost we han in wone—
Þis enteere we haue to-gader:
What letteþ vs forte wynne
Þe Riche blisse is vs bi-hote,
Bote hit beo vr owne synne?
Þer nis non oþur þyng, I wote.
Of Pardoun I haue no pouste
Non to ȝow forte graunte:
But, ȝif ȝe don now aftur me,
I wol ow telle a quantite,
Hou Muchel pardoun ȝe may habbe
To ȝoure meste nede,
To come to honoure wiþ-oute gabbe
Þis ilke Angeles Brede.
Þulke þoresday þat next is
Aftur þe Trinite,
Þe pope vrban ordeynde þis
Þat hit schulde þenne be.

196

An hundred dayes of forȝiuenes
He graunted alle þay
Þat come to þe Matynes
Of þulke same day;
ffourti dayes for vche a tyde,
An hundred for þe Mas,
An hundred hose to þe Euensong abyde—
He graunteþ hem no las.
And al þat wike vche day
Þis pardoun lasteþ so,
Hose al þe seruyse hauen may;
And ȝit he schal han mo:
ffor vche dayes seruyse
An hundret dayes to bote—
Wel him ouȝte to seyen þise
On hors and eke on foote.
Þe laste pope þat was nou,
Of Ion þat was hiht,
Al þe pardun he graunteþ ow
And doubleþ hit wiþ his miht.
Meilerous, þorwh godes grace

197

Bisschop of leihlinne,
He haþ mendet in þis cas
Þorwh miht þat he ȝaf hymme:
ffourti dayes to pardoun
He haþ ȝiue þerto ȝete
To alle wiþ good deuocioun
Hereþ hit or hit rede.
So hit a-mounteþ holliche
On and ffourti ȝere
And sixcore dayes, treweliche,
Whose hereþ his seruyse here.
Ihesu graunte ow alle and some
On eorþe so forte spede
Þat þis pardoun ow make come
To þis Angeles Brede.
Þat Mon eete Angel Brede,
Þus furst we be-gon;
To heuene [hit] mot ow alle lede
Boþe Wyf and Mon,
In nomine patris wiþ ou go,
Et spiritus sancti do also.

Amen.

198

XXXI. Septem miracula de corpore cristi.

God Almihti þat alle þing weldes,
Wyndes, watres, wodes and ffeldes,
And soþly, as þou madest of nouht
Alle creatures þat euer were wrouht,
ffor-ȝif vs, lord, þis day vr synne,
Þis digne sacrament to bi-ginne,
And also worschupe þer-of to speke,
Þat we neuere þe trouþe breke,
Ne forte telle in þis Prolonge (!)
Þing þat falleþ to eny wronge,
But þat hit mihte beo þe to queme
And vs in studefast trouþe to ȝeme.—

Godus sone in heuene a-boue,
He schewed vs also muche loue:
ffor whon his passion neihȝed him neih,
To his disciples þat weren him by
He ȝaf his bodi, hem to fede—
More loue miht he not schewe in dede—
Þat þei schulde muynde haue
Of hym þat miht hem þenne saue.

Ȝit a-forward he let hym slo
Wiþ so gret deþ-pyne and wo.
ffor vs and hem dude he þis,
To bringe vs alle to his blis.
More loue miht he not do,
Ne neuer mon mihte do so;
ffor vs he dude hit, in certeyn,
Þat we schulde loue hym wel aȝein.
Þouh we vr-self [ȝaf] an hundred siþe,
O poynt of such loue miht we not kyþe

199

Lyk to þat loue he haþ vs done,
ffor hit is vre saluacioune.
And of vs ȝit askeþ he nouht
But þat may wel I-nouh be wrouht:
Noþing bote loue wiþ good louyng,
To loue him ouer al oþur þing
And for his loue to leue synne—
Wiþ loue his blisse þen may we wynne.
And þou may neuere haue hym to þe
But þou wolt furst synne fle:
Alle þing he loueþ, but synne he hates;
Ȝif þou loue hym, wiþ synne þou bates.
Ȝif þou loue on, þou most nedes
fforsake þat þyng þat he forbedes,
Elles hit is told for no loue,
And nomeliche to vr lord aboue.
Þou maiȝt not loue him, þe boc seiþ,
But þou haue wiþ þe good feiþ,
Þat is to sey, leeue þou hit wel
Al þat is writen of hym vchedel.
Studefast treuþe of loue hit semes,
And of trewþe loue men nemes:
So is þat on wiþ þat oþur,
Wiþ studefast treuþe loue, his Broþur.
To whom ouȝte vr loue be went?
To trouþe of þis sacrament.
Þis schulde leeue vche cristen mon
And lerne þe treuþe of on þat con:
Þat þe bred þat sacrefyed is
On þe Auter, is godus flesch,
fflesch and blod, þer hit is leid,
Þorwh þe wordus þe prest haþ seid;
Þat lihte wiþ-Inne þe virgine Marie
And on þe Rode for vs wolde dye
And from deþ to lyue a-Ros,
God and Mon, in Miht and loos.
ffor hose troweþ not þis cler
In þe sacrament of þe Auter,
He schal neuere þe blisse a-byde,
ffor no þing þat him may be-tyde.

200

In þe Olde lawe þus is writen—
Iewes and Cristene wel hit witen:
“God seide þat hit was wrouht,
He Comaundede alle þing of nouht”—
Þis wordus aren verrey and cler,
Dauid hem seide in þe psauter.
Seþþhe he made al of nouȝt þat was,
Lasse Maystrie were in þis caas
fforte chaunge on liknes
In to a-noþur þyng þen hit is,
Þat ilke liknesse in Bred and Wyn
In fflesch and blod to torne hit in.
His fflesch and blood in Bred is wrouht;
Siþþe he made [al] be-fore of nouht,
Ȝif þou seo hit not bodiliche in siht,
Þi soule wiþ-Inne schal trouwe hit riht;
And þauȝ þow fele no sauour
But verrey wyn and bred of fflour,
Þis is wisdam of godus ordinaunce,
To saue vs alle from þis Chaunce:
ffor ȝif hit weore as flesch to take,
Wiþ-stonde we scholde and hit forsake;
And for he nolde we hit forsoke,
Bot alle men hit vndurtoke,
Þerfore his wisdam his owne rede
Sauereþ hit in wyn and Brede.
Hit semeþ bred as to þe siht
And as Bred hit sauereþ riht;
Nouþur in siht ne in felyng
Knowest þou of no certeyn þing.
What schal þenne þe most saue
But studefast þouht þat þou schalt haue,
Studefast trouþe of vch a del,
Þat wol vs saue wondur wel.
And summe han hit seyen Bodily,
To whom he schewed his Mercy.
Lo her a tale al and sum
Þat is In Vitas Patrum:

201

1. Narracio cuiusdam religiosi.

Hit was a Mon of Religioun,
Of alle Men he hedde gret renoun;
And, for þe fend wolde him haue schent,
He leeuede not in þe sacrament,
And seide, hit was not Ihesu
Þat Conceyued was þorwh gret vertu,
Ne Ihesu was not þat Oble
Þat was reised atte sacre
And þat þe folk honourede to;
To leeue hit was not to do.
Bi-fore two Abbotes þus he tolde—
Þis Abbotes write þis tale to holde,
Hit scholde be told to eueriche mon
Þat is aȝeyn þe Cristendom
Til hit beo preued bi Clergye
Wher hit beo treuþe or heresye.

Þis Abbotes schewed him þe rihte wey,
Wiþ alle þe ensaumples þat þei couþe sey;
And al he seide hit was lye,
But ȝif he seȝe hit wiþ his eȝe
“Don þen so þat I hit seo,
Þen wol I leue þat hit so be.”

Þis Abbotes preide a ful seue-niht
Þat he wolde schewe him, to trouwe his miht,
In fflesch, in Blod on þe Auteer,
To Conferme his trouþe cler.
And him-self preide specialy
Þat god wolde schewe hym in Body,
“Lord, for no mis-bileeue,
Þat þow scholdest wiþ me greue,
But forte schewe þe riht soþnes
Þat þow art sacrament of þe Mes,
Þat I may make oþer certeyne
Whon I wiþ eȝen haue þe seyȝene.”

Þis Abbotes lyȝe in orisoun
Til þat þe seueniht were don.

202

Þe Sonenday to Churche þei come,
Þat oþur Mon wiþ hem þei nome.
A sege was ordeynt for hem þre,
To bi-holde al þat priuite
Of þat holy Sacrament
Þat scholde be schewed in here present.

Bi-twene hem sat þis ilke mon
Of whom þe Miracle furst bi-gon.
Whon þe oble was on þe Auter leid
And þe prest þe wordes hed seid,
Alle þre þouȝte hem verreylike
By-fore þe prest a Child lay quik,
In feir forme, of fflesch and blod;
Þis say þei þre þer þey stod.
Whon þe prest scholde parte þe sacrament,
An Angel [doun] from heuene was sent
And sacrefyed þe child riht þore:
As þe prest hit brac, þe Angel hit schore,
Þe Blod in to þe Chalis Ron
Of þat child, boþe God and Mon.
Þe prest ȝede to þe hiȝeste degre,
To hosel him as hit fel to be;
Hem þhouȝte þe prest brouȝte on þe patin
Mosseles of þat child newe slayn
And beed him a Mossel of þat fflesch,
Wiþ al þe blod þer-on al fresch.

Þen gan he crie wiþ loude steuene:
“Merci, Godus sone of heuene,
Þe Bred I sauh on þe Auter lyȝe
Hit is þi bodi, I seo wiþ eȝe;
Of þe Bred þorwh sacrament
To fflesch and Blod hit is went;
Þis I beo-leeue, and euere I schalle,
ffor verreyliche we seon hit alle.”

Whon he and þei weore alle certeyne,
In forme of Bred hit tornde aȝeyne.
He dude him hosel as oþur wore,
And was a good mon for euer-more.
And al oþure beo þe bettre
Þat hereþ þis tale or redeþ þis lettre.—

203

Þe Prest þat sacreþ Godus bodi,
He moste beo ful clene nedeli;
A lewed mon þat schal hit receyue,
Alle-Maner fulþe moot he weyue.

But beo þou neuere so good a prest
Ne neuer so gret wiþ-Inne þi Brest,
I rede þou here hou þei are schewed,
Al-þauh þei ben of langage lewed.

Þou wost wel, in þe Oble
Is a luytel þyng to se:
So schaltou beo luytel in wille,
Luytel and Muchel wiþ-outen ille,
Nout in pride ne in heihþe,
ffor no wisdam ne no sleihþe;
Þe soþe hit is wiþ Lucifer,
Proude men schal wone þer.

Þe Oble is mad of whete,
Þe Beste corn þat men of ete:
So schulde we beo meke and louely
To alle þo þat ben vs by;
Þis Mekenes is a-ȝeyn þat Ire
Þat is wiþ Lucifer in þat fyre.

Þe paast of þe oble nouht ne owe
Beo maad of no-maner sourdowe,
ffor þe sourdowe makeþ al soure
Þe swettest þat comeþ of þe floure.
Bi þis sourdowe is tokenynge
Þat Envye is a wikked þinge,
ffor hit for-doþ alle swetnesse of dede,
Þat god scholde ȝiue vr soules meede;
Þerfore makeþ he non herburgrye
Þer he fyndeþ biforen envye.

O vertue In þe whete is
Þat is muche a-ȝein Slouhnes:
Þer whete comeþ he wol not prike,
As Otes don and Barlike:
Ne we ne scholde not be prikel
In Idelnesse ouer-Mukel;
Idelnesse gruccheþ and is heui of þouht
And is soone wroþ for nouht,

204

And þat wraþþhe comeþ of sorwe,
And of wonhope wol muche Borwe.
Þis sacrament of þe Messe
Loueþ not such Idelnesse,
Not wiþ non nul he dwelle
Bute þer men of þe Ioye spelle.

Þe paast of þe oble seid beo-forn
Schal not beo of medlet corn,
Bote al onliche of whete:
ffoule desires schal men lete,
Þat bi-meneþ, In no wyse
We schal vs ȝiue to Couetyse,
Þat is also called Aueryce,
Þe whuche is a foul wikked vice.

Also þou seost þe oble is þinne
And muche honeste wiþ-Inne:
And þat wol wel signefye
Aȝeyn þe sinne of glotenye;
Þer wol not þe sacrament reste,
Ac glotenye wol him out keste.

And as þou sest, þe oble is whit:
So schul we haue no-maner delyt
Of no-maner fflesches take,
ffor lecherie makeþ þe soule blake.
Þeos seuene partyes beþ
In þe Oble, as we seoþ,
And eueri propurte þer-Inne
Is aȝein an hed-synne.
A-ȝeyn þis sacrament do þo
Þat aren in synne and þerto go,
Or aren in wille aȝeyn to wende
To synne and hem-self schende;
As prest þat goþ to synge Mes
Þat in dedly synne is;
An hondred-fold he sungeþ more
Þe[n] he a lewed mon wore.

Alle þat receyue þe sacrament
In dedly sunne or wikked entent
Or in eny of þeose seuene
Þat þou hast here herd nempne,

205

Riht to heore Dampnaciun,
And þerfore vengaunce schal be don.
And here I schal telle a tale
Hou hit is to þat mon Bale:

2. Narracio presbiteri parochialis.

A Parisch-prest was in a Toun,
Of ful gret discrecioun,
fful good and rihtful he was,
And god sende hym of his gras:

Of his parischens he vndurstode
Whuche wer vuel and wȝuche wer gode.
Two he hedde forte gete
Þat nolde neuere synne lete.

And hit felde on an Asterne,
Þat þe prest scholde non hosul werne
But hit were for þe gretur synne,
Inobedience or Corsyng Inne:

Þis prest was in ful gret þouht
Wher he schulde hosele hem or nouht.
He preyede to God, heuene-kyng,
Þat he wolde sende him tokenyng
Wheþer he scholde hem hosul forbede;
To ȝiue hit hem he hedde gret drede.

ffrom god he hedde þis onswere:
Þat vch on scholde heor oune charge bere,
And þat he scholde werne hit none
But ȝiue hit forþ to euerichone;
“Do as Ihesu dude in dede,
And þou schalt no mon hit forbede,
No more þen he dude Iudas
Þat hedde I-don a gret trespas;

Ihesu ȝaf alle wiþ mylde mood,
Whon Bred was turned to flesch and blod.
ffor summe þat hit take hit schal hem saue,
And summe þerfore peyne schal haue;
Aftur þey aren of synne clene,
Also schal hit on hem beo sene.”

206

Ȝit preyed he god of More grace:
Þat he mihte knowe be þe face
Whuche resceyued hit worþily,
And wȝuche to haue hit not worþi.
And [god] graunted him his wille,
To knowe þe goode from þe ille.
Þe folk þat to þe prest went
fforte receyue þe sacrament,

Of somme þe face was also briht
As þe sonne In somer-liht;

And summe þe visage was also blak
Þat noþing miht hit Blakore mak;

Of somme hit was as red as blod,
Starynge as þei weore wood;

Of somme þe visage was bolled stoute,
As boþe heore eȝen welleden oute;

And summe nymped wiþ feet and hondes,
As dogges don þat gnawen heore bondes;

And somme hedde visages of Meselri;
And somme were lyk foul Maumetri.
Moni wondres weore on hem seene,
Mo þen he couþe þenne deme.

Þe prest, whon he sauh alle þise,
Of þat siht he gan to grise,
ffor þat siht he was hidouse
And dredful and Meruilouse.

Ȝit preȝede he god wiþ good entent
Þat he mihte wite what al þis ment.
And god almihti louede him wel
And wolde schewe him eueridel:
“Þo Men þat weore so briht
As þe sonne on day-liht,
Þo Men aren ȝit in Charite
And clene of synne, and worschupeþ me.

Þo Men þat were so blake
Þat no þing mihte hem blakore make,
Þo weore lechours foul wiþ-Inne
And haue no wille to leue heor synne.

Þo Men þat weore so red as blood,
Þei are tirauns wikked of mood,

207

Heore Euencristen for to slo
Wiþ dede and wiþ word also.

Þo þat þow sauh wiþ Bollen visage,
Þo aren Envyous and ouer-outrage.

And þo þat nymped her fingres and hendes,
Are Bacbyteres bi-twene frendes.

Þo þat þou sauh Meseles bi siht,
Þey loue more good þen god almiht.

Þo þat þou sauh lik Maumetrie,
On worldly þinges þei most affye,
More loue þei catel þat he haþ sent
Þen þei don hym þat al haþ lent.

Þeose-maner men are riht in wille
In heore synne to leue stille,
And þerfore schal þe sacrament
Of hem aske heor Iugement,
Þat þei haue resceyued him vnworþily
And serued þe fend wiþ ful Envy.”—

Þis tale is told for loue of þo
Þat in synne to hosul go,
Or ben in wille to torne aȝeyn;
Al heore trauayle þei don in veyn.

Ȝif þou wole þyn hosel saue take,
Beo in wille þi synne to forsake
Euermore in studefast herte;
And ȝif þou synne in bodi smerte,
God takeþ hit nouȝt to so gret grim
As þou in tresun Receyuede hym.
In no þing wot I more tresun
Þen bringe þi lord on his felun,
And ȝit men seiþ þe synne is to greue
Þat bringeþ a trewe mon on a þeue.
Ȝif þou do þus þi witande,
Þen chargen hit me moste on hande.
Þerfore loke þou wite nouht
No synne I-hud In herte ne þouht!

ffor no Clerk þat is in synne,
Til he leue and þer-of blynne
He schulde not serue atte Auteer
Ne hondle þing þat comeþ þer neer.

208

I touched er of þis outrage
Whon I spac of þe sacrilage,
Þat þe holigost schewed him nouht
ffor þe Dekene syngede in þouht;
In þe tale of Ion Grisostomus
Þis tale is told, for ow and vs.

Als is he worþi to ben i-schent
Þat sone aftur þe sacrament
To folye and to synne drawes—
Luitel of Godus vengaunce hym awes!

Ȝif þou forȝete or ouer-sittes
Þe tyme of hosul þat þou wel wittes,
Luitel fors of him þou ȝeues,
Nouþur þou louest hym ne leues.
And ouer al he loueþ þe best;
And þou ne wolt a nihtes gest
Leten hym herborwe in þin hous!
Þou art vnkynde and Meruylous,
Þat al þe ȝer þou letest him weyue,
Wiþ worschipe woltou not him resceyue.
God Manaseþ for þis chesun,
ffor riht hit wole and eke resun:
ffor suche men aren holden vntrewe

In þe Olde lawe and in þe newe.
Comaunded In þe Olde lawe was
Ones in þe ȝeer to schewe þi trespas.

Þe newe lawe is of þe more honour,
Ones in þe ȝeer resceyue þi creatour,
Ones a ȝer him to knoweleche,
Þi lord to plese for doute of wreche.

Þat prest i blame ouer alle þinge,
Wiþ-outen gret skil þat letteþ to synge;
ffor mony a soule mihte I-saued be
Wiþ þat Masse þat þenne leueþ he.
ffor alle þat in þe peyne Is,
Abydeþ socour of þe Mes,
ffor eueri Masse makeþ Memorie
Of soules þat aren In purgatorie.
Muche þonk schal he haue
Þat helpeþ soules for to saue;

209

No þing may so muchel avayle
Of heore peynes and heore trauayle
As þe sacrament of þe Auteer,
Hit makeþ hem of peynes cleer.
And þat may I schewe apertely
Bi a tale of seynt Gregori:

(3.) Narracio felicis presbiteri.

Seint Gregori seiþ for þe same:
Hit was a prest, ffelix his name;
Bi-syde he wonede in a paþe,
Was a wassching In an hote baþe.
Þis prest ofte þider ȝede,
To wassche him whon he hedde nede.
Þis prest þer euer [redi] he fonde
A Mon to wassche him, to foot and honde;
He drouȝ his hosen of and his schon
And redi was hem on to don;
At eueri tyme he þider com
His herneis feire of he nom,
And seruede him at eueri tyde
In þat watur and ofte beo-syde.

Þis prest þat com þider so ofte,
Þat þis mon þer seruede so softe,
He ne askede hym neuer-more
Wheþen he was ne hou he com þore;
But eueri tyme he was redi
And seruede him ful apertely.

Þis prest þouȝte, “he serueþ me wel,
His trauayle wol I quite sum-del.”
On a day he þider þouhte
And twey loues wiþ hym he brouhte.
In to þat baþ ȝeode þat prest
And wusch him as he dude nest;
Þis mon was þere him aȝeyn,
To serue him wel he dude his Mayn.
Þis prest, whon he scholde go,
He ȝaf þis mon þis loues two,
And þonked him muchel his seruyse,
And more he scholde haue oþurwyse.

210

Þis Mon onswerde þis prest a-ȝeyn:
“Þis bred ȝe bringeþ to me in veyn,
ffor neuer-more schal I ȝete
Bred ne non oþur mete:
I am a Mon þat is ded,
Þat neuer-more schal ete bred.”

Þe prest asked: “on what manere
Is hit þat þou wonest here?”
Þis Mon onswerde in þat tyde:
“I was lord here ar I dyede,
And þis seruise þat I am Inne
Is þe peyne for my synne.
Bote I þe preye par charite,
Offre on þe Auter þes loues for me;
And I beseche þe ouer alle þynge
Þat sixe Masses for me þou synge;
And heo weore songen, I hope to wende
In to þe Ioye wiþ-outen ende.
And whon þe sixte masse is left,
Ȝif þou ne fynde me her eft,
Trouwe [þou] þenne forsoþe i-wis
Þat for þi preyere I am in Blis.”

Þis prest al þat wike longe
ffor þis mon preyede and songe.
And whon þe wike was al gon,
Þe prest com þidere, and fond non;
He hopede wel þat he was brouht
To blisse, for he ne fond him nouht.—

Beo þis tale ȝe may se
Þat hit is gret Charite
Masses for þe dede to synge,
Þe soules [out] of pyne forte bringe.
Ouer alle þing hit haþ pouwer,
Þe sacrament of þe Auter,
And nomeliche whon hit is don
Wiþ good monnes deuocion;
Him wol god sannore here
Þen on þat is him nouht so dere.

In þe seueþe Comaundement
Toucheþ to þis sacrament

211

In a tale of þat kniht,
Hou þe prest þat liueþ not riht,
Of his preyere is luytel prou,
And þere hit telleþ wel hou.
And I schal telle anoþur here
Of a Masse of a good frere:

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

A mon in Souþfolk ones dyed,
Bi-sydes Sudburi, as men seid.
ffor þat mon such grace was diht
Þat him was graunted to come a niht
fforte speke wiþ his wyf,
To mende þe fautes of his lyf.
“Ȝef a Masse,” he seide, “were for me don
Wiþ a good monnes deuocion,
I hope to Ioye for to go
And beo dilyueret of al my wo.

I preye þe, dame, par charite
To trauayle so muche for me.”
Heo graunted hym þat ilke bone,
And ros vppon þe morwen sone
And to þe ffreres sone heo eode,
Þer heo hopede best to spede.

Heo com and spac wiþ a ffrere
And preyed heo moste his masse here,
And for hire hosebondes soule to synge,
And heo wolde ȝiue hym offringe.

Þe ffrere dude hire a Mes
In Comuyn, as þe seruise is.
Whon þis Masse I-songen was,
Heo wente hom a good pas.

Þe niht aftur þenne com he.
“Slepestou?” he seide. “nay,” seide heo;
“Are ȝe ȝit,” heo seyde, “in blis?
Þe Masse for ow I-songen is.”

“Þe Masse,” he seide, “þou dudest do,
A parti hit helpeþ me þerto;
Mi part ich hedde of þat Mes
As of þing þat Comuyn is.

212

Ȝif on weore specialy for me seid,
Of my peyne I were ful leyd,
Ȝif þe prest were of lyf so good
Þat God his preyere vndurstood;
I hope þenne grace to haue
Þat his Masse mihte me saue;”
Ofte he seide to his wyf:
“A prest, A prest of clene lyf!”

On þe Morwen forþ heo eode
To þe ffreres eft to spede,
And schewed hit to þe priour,
And preyed him of socour;
Ȝif he hedde eny broþur
Þat he kneuh beter þen oþur,
“Þat wol synge me a Mes
ffor a Mon þat ded is,
At myn ese he schal haue
To a pitaunce what he wol craue.”

Þe prior spac to a ffrere
And preyed him on alle manere
Þat he wolde a Masse synge
ffor þat soule heo made preyinge.

Þe ffrere was an holy mon;
And ar [þat] he his Masse bi-gon,
He preyed to god his orison,
Wiþ a gret deuocion,

Þat hit mihte ben him to pay,
Þe Masse þat he scholde synge to-day.
Whon þe Masse was don to þe ende,
He bad þe wommon hom [to] wende,
“And whon þou more eft heres,
Cum and sey to vre ffreres!”

Þe niht aftur—lustneþ now!—
He com and seide: “slepestou?”
“Nay,” heo sayde, “hou fare ȝe?”
“Wel,” he seide, “and so worþ þe!”
“Sire, weore ȝe a-payed of þat Mas
Þat for ow to-day songen was?”
“Ȝe,” he seide, “graunt Merci!
Þat Masse to me is more worþi

213

Þen al þe world an hundred siþe,
Ne miht haue mad me neuer so bliþe.
His preyere was to god so dere,
ffor al þat he preyede he wolde here;
Þeih he hedde preiȝed for a þousund mo,
ffrom peyne to blisse þei hedde i-go;
ffor what þing he hedde asked bone,
God wolde ha graunted him ful sone.

Haue good day! for now I wende
To þat Ioye wiþ-outen ende.
God lete þe neuere þer-of mis,
Þou ne he, to haue þat blis.”

Þe wyf com sone on þe Morn
And fel on knes þat ffrere bi-forn
And tolde him þer eueridel
Hou he for his preyere was wel.
And þat ffrere ful wel he lette,
And þonked God, for Ioye he grette.
Wel weore hym at his endynge
Hedde such a prest for him to synge!—
In þis tale schewed is:
Of alle þing good is þe mes,
Þe sacrament on þe Auter
Ouer alle passeþ his pouwer.
In þe Masse þei hem a-fye
Þe soules þat are in purgatorie.

Þe sone is offred to þe ffadur of heuene
ffor þe soules þe prest wol nempne;
Þat is þus for to mene:
Ȝif þe prest beo good and clene,
Þenne wol Ihesu crist hym heere,
ffor what þyng he makeþ preyere;
Preye he for soule or for bodi,
Þat aren in pyne or in nuy,
Boþe wol god almihti saue
What þe gode prest wolde haue.
Not only for soulus is he herd,
Bote eke for vs here in þis world.
Beo a Mon in seknesse or in prisun,
Weyferynge, or in temptaciun,

214

Or in eny oþur trauayle,
Þe sacrament wol vs a-vayle;
Hit wol delyuere vs out of peyn,
Ȝif vr trouþe beo certeyn.
And þat was wel schewed in dede
In Engelonde, so seiþ seint Bede:
In his Bokes writen hit is,
A feir Miracle of þe Mes:

(5.) Narracio Bede.

Þat tyme seint Bede was liuonde,
Weore Mony kynges in þis londe.
Bi-twene two was gret Batayle—
Þerfore i telle þis Meruayle;
Þat on hiht Edfride, of North Cuntre,
Þat oþur of lindeseye was he.

Edfride hedde gret seygneri,
Seynt Andreu hosbonde of hely.
Þis Batayle was bi boþe heore a-sent
Bi-sydes a watur men calleþ Trent.
Sire Elfride broþur hette Eleswynne,
He was slayn þat Batayle Inne;
On boþe partys ne was non
So feir a kniht of fflesch and bon,
Ne non so douhti was of Armes—
Þerfore seint Bede pleynede his harmes.

A-noþur kniht was feld doun
Nerhonde ded, and fel in swoun;
Þe nome of þis ȝonge kniht
Ruyna, seiþ seint Bede, he hiht.
Whon þis Ruyna hedde long leyn,
He keuerde, and seet vp aȝeyn,
And stopped his woundes þei schulde not blede,
And, as he mihte, þennes he ȝede,
To seche him help sumwher to haue,
Of frendes fynde him to saue.

As he wente wiþ muchel drede,
He was taken wiþ kyng Coldrede;
And brouht him to a lordyng,
An Erl, þat heold of þe kyng.

215

Þe Erl asked him what he was,
And wher he hedde ben in hard cas.
ffor doute of deþ he was a-friht
And dorste not seye he was a kniht;

He seide: “sire, ȝif þi wille be,
I am an hosebonde-mon of þe cuntre,
I was wont to lede vitayle
To knihtes þat weoren in Batayle;
And nou I am a pore mon,
Þus fro þis Batayle I com,
And wolde fonde to haue my lyf,
Til I may come to my wyf.”

Þis Erl dude a leche bi stoundes
To tente to hym, to hele his woundes.
Þat tyme was here mony þeodes,
Mony vsages, and mony leodes,
ffor vche a kyng in þat dawes
Vsede his diuerse lawes:

Summe were cristene in vre fay,
And summe leeuede in paynymes lay;
Þerfore þat tyme was muchel þro,
And ofte was boþe werre and wo.

Ȝif a kniht miht oþer men take,
He scholde hem sulle or in seruage make.
Wherfore i telle so of þis kniht:
Þe Erl let him bynde eueriche niht,
Þat he ne scholde from hym fle
Ne stele a-wey to his cuntre.
ffor al þat þei mihte him bynde,
Ofte loos þei dude hym fynde;
Neuer so faste þeih heo him bounde,
Loos a-noþur tyme þei him founde.

Þis bounden kniht, Ruyna,
Hedde a Broþur, þat hihte Tymma;
Þis Tymma was prest Religious,
ffor he was Abbot of an hous,
So longe he liuede in þat estre
Þat his nome heet Tymmestre;
Þat tyme, as ich vndurstonde,
Hit was in Northhumberlonde.

216

Þis Abbot hedde tiþinges certeyne
Þat Ruyna was in Batayle slayne.
He com to Trent, þis Abbot Tymma,
And fond a bodi lyk to Ruyna;
Honorabliche he dude hit graue
In his chirche þer he wolde hit haue,

And song þerfore day and oþur:
He wende hit hedde ben his broþur.
Þauh Tymma hedde chosun wrong,
His broþur hedde þe goodus of þe song—
ffor God al wot, and wust hit þere
ffor whom he made his preyere:—
Þeih men a-niht þis kniht bounde,
A-Morwe þei hym loos founde,
Men mihte hym neuere bynde so fest
Þat þei þat tyme nolde al to-berst.
Þe men þat hedde þis kniht in holde,
Þis wondur to þe Erl þei tolde.

Þe Erl hedde þer-of gret wondur
Þat þis bondes weore so in-sondur;
He seide, him-self wolde wiþ him speke
And wite whi his bondes dude breke.

Bi-fore þe Erl was he set,
And þe Erl feire he gret.
“Sey me,” he seide, “þou belamy,
Const þou wel on sorcery?
Sum wicche-craft I trouwe þou bere
Þat þi bondes þe not dere;
fforsoþe,” he seyde, “sumwhat þou dos
Þat euer-more þei fynde þe loos.”

He seide: “wicche-craft con I nouht,
Ne for me schal non beo wrouht,
Ne I nul be by fendes craft
vn-bounde beo, bi no wicche-craft.

Sire Erl,” he seide, “hit is a-noþur:
In my cuntre I haue a Broþur,
Þat leeueþ wel þat I beo slayn,
ffor I com not hom aȝeyn;
ffor me he syngeþ vche day a Mes—
prest, abbot forsoþe he is.

217

I wot wel, þat is þe enchesun
Þat my Bondus here vndon;
ffor no þing ne haues pouwer
Aȝeyn þe sacrament of þe auter.
ffor, ȝif I weore ded, in oþur werld,
His preyere for me weore I-herd,
To bringe me out of peyne and wo,
And siþen to blisse forte go.”

Al þat Meyne and þat Erl
Leeuede wel he was no cherl,
as he to-fore hem hedde i-seid
Whon þei on hym furst hond leyd;
Bi his semblaunt and feir beryng
Hym semed wel a gret lordyng,
Bi his speche þei vndurstood
Þat he was mon of gentil blod.

Þe Erl tok him in priuite,
Wheþen he was telle scholde he;
“Sey me soþ, and, as I am trewe kniht,
Þou schalt no skaþe haue, be my miht.”

“Seþþhe þou me bi-hotest pes and griþ,
I am þe kynges mon Eldriþ;
Armes I bar in þat Batayle,
Wiþ my pouwer him to auayle.”

“So me þhouȝte,” seide þe Erl,
“Þou semed not to ben a cherl.
Bote for þi knowlechyng her me bye
Þou weore worþi for to dye,
ffor þou halp þer to slo,
Þat al my kynde is ded me fro;
Bote, for I er sikerde þe,
Scha[l]t þou haue no skaþe for me.”

He eode and sold him for Raunsoun
At Londone to a ffrisoun.
A ffrisoun, ȝe schul vndurstonde,
Is a Mon of ffrys-londe.

Þis ffrisoun scholde þis Mon forþ lede,
And dude on him bondes for drede,
ffor a-skapyng bi þe weye
He dude bondes on him leye.

218

Bot þat vaylede him no-þyng
Neuer a day, þat byndyng:
ffor in þat tyme þe masse was songen,
Þe bondes to-barst and al to-sprongen.

Þis ffrison þhouȝte: “hou may þis beo?
He may riht wel from me fleo;
Happyliche hit a-vayleþ nouht
Þe Catel þat I wiþ him bouht.”

Þe ffrison seide: “wolt þou wel
Restore a-ȝeyn al my Catel,
And I schal ȝiue þe leue to go
To þi Cuntre þat þou com fro.
But furst þou schalt me trouþe pliht,
And trewely hold hit wiþ al þi miht,
To bringe þe Catel I ȝaf for þe,
And elles I graunte þe not fre.”
He graunted him al þat he seide,
And trouþe in hond wiþ hym he leide.

Þis Ruyna wente to kyng loer,
Þat was kyng of Caunturber—
He was seint Andreus suster sone,
And Ruyna was wont wiþ hym to wone;
Of al his stat, boþe wo and wele,
Ruyna told him eueridele.

Þe kyng ȝaf him his Raunsun;
And [he] bar hit to londun to þat ffrisun.
Seþþe eode he hom, þis kniht Ruyna,
To his broþur, Abbot Timma,
And tolde him of al his wo-fare
And of his cumfort in al his care.

Þis Abbot wel vndurstood
Þat his Masse dude him gret good
And þe sacrament gon hym borwe
Out of seruage and out of sorwe.

Þis tale telleþ vs seynt Bede
In his gestes þat we Rede.—
Bi þis tale may men lere
Þat Masses helpeþ vs wel here:
ffor vs liuynge hit makeþ Memorie,
Also for þe soules in purgatorie.

219

Vche mon schal leeue þat riht
Þat helpen hit wolle as [hit] dude þe kniht.

Þis sacrament helpeþ not ȝit alone,
Bote þe offrynges euerichone,
Al þat we offre atte Mes,
Al to vre saluacion hit is.
Not only forte saue þe dede,
Þe quike hit saueþ also and rede;
As wel haue þe quike þe prou
As þe dede þerof þe vertu nou;
Quike and dede, More and lesse
Ben I-saued þorwh þe Messe.

Þe Offringe is as a present,
Þat helpeþ vs wiþ þe sacrament,
To þe ffadur of heuene tentefuly,
ffor whom þou offerest to haue Merci.

A tale I fond ones I-writen,
And as I sauh hit, I wol ȝe witen,
And wel a-cordeþ in alle þinge
Þat God is payed of good offringe.

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

Hit was a Mon bi-ȝonde þe séé,
A Mynour, wonede In a Citee.
Mynours, þei makeþ in hulles holes,
As men don þat secheþ coles.
Þe Mynour souht stones vndur molde
Þat Men of maken seluer and golde.
He wrouhte and holede in þe hille.
A perilous chaunce fel hym tille:
A gret parti of þe Myne
ffel doun þer and closed hym Inne.

His felawes alle þat weren hym hende,
Þat he weore ded wel þei wende;
Þei eode and tok hem alle to Rede,
And tolde his wyf þat he was dede.

Þis wommon bi-menede hir hosebonde sore—
God leeue þat mony such wymmen wore!—
Heo helped his soule in alle þynge,
In almes-dede and in offringe;

220

Heo Offred for him atte Auter
fful of wyn a picher,
And [a] feir lof wiþ-al,
Eueri day as principal,
And al þat twelf-moneþ stabely,
Bote o day þat passed forby.
ffewe suche wymmen [now] we fynde
Þat to heore hosebondes are so kynde!
Bote þis wyf wiþ al hire miht
Dude for him [boþe] day and niht.

Hit fel at þe twelfmoneþ ende,
His felawes to þe hul gon wende,
And come to þat same stude eft
Þer þei heore felawe in werk left.
Riht þere þei furst bi-gon
Þei percede þorwh in to þe Mon:
Þe Mon In good stat þei founde,
Liuinge, wiþ-outen wem or wounde.
Euerichone þei hedde ferly,
And þat was gret Resun why!
Alle þo men weore in gret weer
How he hedde lyued al þat ȝer.
Bote þenne he tolde hem euerichon
How he hedde lyued þer al-on:
“I haue I-liued gracious lyf
Þorwh cortesye of my wyf:
Eueri day heo haþ me sent
Bred and wyn to present;
But o day, þenne eet I nouht,
ffor my mete me nas not brouht.”

Þei ladde þe mon in to þe toun,
And tolde þis Miracle vp and doun,
ffurst þorwh þe Citéé,
And seþþe þorwh al þe contre.
Hit com in spekyng atte laste
Þat day þat he dude faste.
He tolde hem þe dayes name,
And his wyf seide þe same:
Þat day heo offrede neuer a del,
Þe goode ffriday hit mihte be wel.

221

Now may ȝe here þat almes-dede
Gostlyche wole a mon fede,
And so may ȝe wel vnderstande
Þat God is payed of good offrande.—

ffor al þis tale in ȝor lyues
Trustneþ not in ȝor wyues,
Ne in ȝour children no-þing;
Makeþ or-self ȝour offring!
So kynde a wommon as I of tolde
Liueþ not now, beo ȝe bolde!
Ne no clerk þat þis redes
Schal fynde non nou of so kynde dedes.—

Ȝe men þat are nou In present,
Þat hereþ rede þis sacrament,
Ouer alle þing hit haþ power,
Þe sacrament on þe Auter,
As I haue here to ow i-schewed,
Not to lered bote to lewed.
Ȝe lewede men, I telle hit ow—
Þis clerkes con hit wel I-nouh.
Preiȝe we þenne vr creatour,
Þat þe sacrament, vr saueour,
Þat Bodi and soule he wol vs saue,
And we him to loue and he us to haue.

Amen.

XXXII. Hou a man schal lyue parfytly.

In nome of him Alweldyng
Þat is vr heiȝe heuene-kyng,
Takeþ hede here in alle wyse
To fleo þe sunne of Couetyse
And alle þe dedly Synnes samed
Þat her-aftur schul beo named.

222

Ȝe mouwe also here hardily
Hou mon schal lyue parfytly;

Þenne schul ȝe here also
What is þe wille of god euermo;

Also schul ȝe here now rede
What þing makeþ mon holy in dede;

Þen schul ȝe here, ȝif ȝe wol trouwe,
Hou mon schal him-self knowe,
In bodi and in soule also,
Wher he liue treweli or ne do;

Also mowe ȝe here in hiȝ
Þe godnesse of god þat is euer redi;

Þen mowe ȝe heere in þis ryme
How a Mon schal spende his tyme.

Also heere lerne we may
Hou þat we schule vre lord pay.
Herkneþ alle feire and stille:
Heere schul ȝe so of godus wille,
As witnesseþ folliche hit
Þe Bok þat is cald holi writ:

Þe seuen dedlich synnus, þe braunches also,
I wol ȝow telle, ar ȝe go;

Þe seuen vertuwes of Ion þe Ewangelist,
Þat was ful wel wiþ Ihesu Crist;

Þe seuen ȝiftus of þe holigost,
Þe whuche ben of mihtes most,
And of heore strengþe also I-feere
Sumwhat þenne mowe ȝe lere;

Þen schul ȝe heere in presens
Whuch ben þe ten Comaundemens;

Þe[n] schul ȝe heere feir and briht
Of þreo vertuwes and of heore miht,
Þat is ffeiþ, good hope, and loue,
Þat wol vs bringe to blisse aboue;

Of þe twelf Articles of þe ffey
Schul we also sumwhat sey;

Of þe seuen Sacramens,
Þat euer ben in godus presens;

So schul ȝe heere sum or al
Þe ffoure vertuwes Principal:

223

Prouwesse, Rihtwisnesse, and Meth,
Strengþe also wiþ hem he geth;

Of þe seuen werkes [of merci] also—
Lord, ȝif vs grace hem wel to do.—

Videte vocacionem vestrum. (Paul, 1 Cor. 1, 26.)

Þis wordus here þat I ow say,
To Religious men longen þay;
Þus muche ben þei forte mene,
As ȝe schul heere al bydeene:
“Seo,” he seiþ, “bi-holde ȝe
To what þing ȝe cleped be.”
Þat he seiþ, hem to redresse
And to sturen hem to Parfytnesse.
ffor eueri Mon þat lyueþ here
Ouhte ha Ioye and Serwe I-fere:
Ioye for þe worþily wonynge
Þat is ordeynt to wel lyuynge,

Serwe also to haue þerbi
ffor vre liuynge vnrihtfuli.
ffor her seiþ seint Eusebi
Wordus þat ben ful dredfuly:

“A Mon to Religiun him dresse
Is aller-hext sikernesse;
Not parfyt liue þer-inne son
Is aller-hext Dampnacion.”
In Religiun we to beo don
Is aller-hext Saluacion:
Ȝif þow wolt þat saluacion proue,
Al þat is good þou most loue,
Þou most loue eke also
Al þat Religius longeþ to;
Þou most al þi wille ȝiue
Parfytly and sikerly to liue.
And seint Bernard vs techeþ in hiȝ
To liue Mekeli, loueli, and worschipfuli.
Þat “worschipfuli” is to mene,
To Godus worschipe feir and clene,
Þat þou do al þyn entent
To don al his Comaundement;

224

To don his biddyng þou not asterte
In al þat þou may þenke wiþ herte,
And loke þou no þing þer-of breke
Wiþ al þat þou wiþ mouþ mai speke,
Or worche in dede wiþ-oute striue
Wiþ eny of þi wittes fyue,
Wiþ siȝt of Eȝe, wiþ Tonge tastyng,
Smellyng of Neose, of Ere heryng;
What þou dost bi wei or strete
Wiþ bodi worching, going wiþ feete,
Liggyng, stondyng, þenkyng also,
Loke ȝif hit beo godus wille or no.
Ȝif hit beo his wille, do hit son;
Ȝif hit ne beo, hit not don,
Do hit not þenne for no maystrie,
Þouȝ þou scholdest þerfore dye.—
Þenne mony mon loud and stille
Wol aske, what is godus wille.
Hit is to vs boþe more and les
To haue vs euere in holynes.—

Þenne is to wite what, and whi,
Þat makeþ a mon þenne holi.
Two þinges þer ben In worchyng:
Þat on is loue, þat oþur knowyng;
Þat is knowyng of alle soþnes,
And loue of alle grete goodnes.
To knowyng of god þat is soþnes
Maist þou not come in blod and flesch,
Bote to knowe þin owne flesch,
And also godus grete goodnes,
Maistou not come, as I þe mene,
Wiþ-outen loue of þin Euencristene.
To knowyng of þi-sel[f] maistou
Come þorwh good þenkyng nou;
Þou mayȝt come to godus knowynge
Þorwh þin owne feire plesynge.
To knowe þi-self old or ȝinge
Maistou come bi þis bithinkynge:
Þenk bisiliche, I preye þe,
What þou weore, art, and schalt be,

225

ffurst as to þi bodi here,
Seþþhe to þi soule þat is so dere.
As to þi bodi: foulore hit is
Þen euer was eny donge, I-wis—
Was neuer ȝit dounge so foule
Þat wolde so stinke, rote and moule;
Þou weore in so gret fulþe igete,
Abhominable hit is þerof to speke;
Þou schalt beo dilyueret to frete
To Todus and oþur wormes mete.
What þou hast ben & art, haue in mynde,
Þat þi soule beo not beo-hynde;—
What þi soule schal beo in tyme comyng,
May no mon knowe but heuene-kyng.

Þenk þou hast In chele and hete
I-do mony wikkednesse and grete,
Þenk also, hem to redresse
Þow hast laft mony gret goodnesse.

Þenk also, þat þis beo not weyued,
Þat longe hast lyued, and muche reseiued,
And hou þou hast spendet þat reseit;
To þe þenne wol þis beo ful streit:
ffor vch a tyme, drede þe nouȝt,
Þat þou hast not on god I-þouȝt,
Þou hast so loren of þi dispens
And don aȝeyn þi lordus defens—
ffor hit is vr lordus biddyng
To loue him ouer al oþur þyng.
ffor þou schalt ȝelde also a-counte
What vch an Idel word wol amounte,
Also to Acountes þou schalt beo brouȝt
ffor euerich Idel werk and þouht;
And as vch an her on þin hed is wried
Þat is saued schal beo glorifyed,
Also schal no þing ascape
Wiþ-outen a-counte erly or late. . . .
ffor þe soule þer hit is holde,
Is more þen al þis worldus molde—
Here is muche of godus grace!
Ȝit schal hit ocupye no place.

226

Þe Bodi and þe soule ben al a-stray,
Diuerse þouȝtes, willes, disires al day:
Ho mihte þenne seche his herte so niȝ
To ȝiue acountes al trewely
Of al þat euere he hedde mys-wrouht
Or eny mis-dede hedde in þouht?
Seoþ now, breþeren bi ten or twelue,
How ȝe ha neode to knowe or-selue!—
Tac good ȝeme what þou [now] art
To soule, and let hit not astart,
Whon þou hast in þe luytel of goode,
Luitel of wit and pouwer and moode,
Þis is þus muche forte say
Þat þou coueytest vche a day
Þing þat nouht is worþ in dede
Ne þat þe helpe mai at gret nede.
Help vs god þat sitteþ on lofte,
ffor elles beo we bigyled ofte,
Oþurwhile þorwh Ragynge as vnwitti,
And oþurwhile beo veyn glori;
Now are we trauaylet in to drede I-lope,
Now beo þe wey of fals hope.
Þow art so chaungable be-hynde & bi-forn,
Þat we wol to-day we wol not to-morn;
Ofte vr-seluen for to plese
Are we aboute worldly ese,
But we haue hem at vr wille
We beo turmented, us þinkeþ wiþ ille:
Whon þou hem at þi wille most hast,
Þen art þou wiþ hem agreued mast.

Þenk wel ȝit, I rede þe,
Hou liht þou art to tempted be,
ffebel and Brutel to stonde a-ȝeyn,
Redi to asente wiþ al oure mayn.
Of alle þeos Merueylous chaunces
Vr lord haþ sent vs diliueraunces,
And vche oþur day þerfore
He vs dilyuereþ more and more.

Whon þou weore nouȝt, he formede þe,
Þi soule to his liknesse to be,

227

And þy stinkynde bodi also
ffoormed he wiþ lymes two,
So feir and noble and of gret prise
Þat no Mon may no such deuise.

Þenk bisiliche, ȝe
Þat loueþ or ffadres and modres fre,
Whi ȝe louen hem so tenderly—
I wolde wite þe resun whi.
Ȝif þou seist þus, as soþ hit is,
ffor þou wer born and geten of her flesch:
So don þe beestes, soþ to say,
Þat breden of Mon and wommon al day.
Þe soþe ȝif þou wol lerne þen,
Bodi ne soule nastou of hem,
But bi him ful witterli
Þat is vr lord, god Almihti.
What heddestou ben, I preye þe,
Ȝif þou heddest stille such i-be
In fulþe of synne as þou i-gete were?
fful Abhomynable hit is to here.

Ȝif þou loue broþur or suster þan
ffor þei ben of þat fflesch i-tan
Þat þou weore þi-self also—
Þerfore þat loue hast þou hem to:
Þou scholdust þen loue hard and nesch
A pece of ffadur or Modur fflesch
In þis Maner, þat I sei here,
Al on Schornes þeiȝ hit were.

Ȝif þou sigge in þis degre
Þou louest hem, for flesch figured þei be
To þi liknes, and for þei han
Soule of god as þou hast tan:
Bi þis is he no more þi broþur
But on as muche as is a-noþur,
But in as muche neuer-þe-latur
As ȝe hedde boþe on flesch-fadur,
And þenne þe biginnyng of vre flesch
Is stynkynde fulþe neuerþeles.

Of O flesch-ffadur alle we came,
Adam was he cald bi name;

228

And for he dude so gret folye,
Scholde we neuer loue her fleschlye,
Bute vche Mon þus scholde loue oþur
Gostlich here as sustur and broþur.—
Ihesu, þat is vr aller kyng,
As I seide atte bygynnyng,
Whon þou weor nouȝt, þen formed he þe.
Whon þou weore lore, þen fond þe he,
Whon þou weore sold in sorwe and sinne,
Þen bouȝt he þe wiþ muchel wynne;
Whon þou were diht, i-dampned also,
Þen mihtfulliche he saued þe þo;
Whon þou weore boren in synne eke,
He Baptised þe wiþ wordus swete.
And whon þou sungest, al day to se,
Þen Mekeliche he soffreþ þe,
And longe he wol ȝit þe abyde,
Resseyue þe aftur, so may be-tyde,
And putte þe in to his swete couent,
Euer to beo to him present.
Whon þou mis-dost, he wol þe þrete,
Longe he bydeþ ar he wol bete;
Whon þou syngest wiþ wille fre,
fful sone wol he for-ȝiue hit þe.
Whon þou mis-gost eke also,
He þe Amendeþ wiþ wille ful þro,
Whon þat þou in doute art ouht,
In to þe techyng he haþ þe brouht;
Whon þou art hungri in eny neode,
ffeire he ordeyneþ þe to ffeede;
Whon þou hast colde, he warmeþ þe, Mon,
Whon þou hast hete, he keleþ þe þon;
Whon þou wakest, he saueþ þe so,
Whon þou slepest, he kepeþ þe to;
Whon þou rist vp, he þe sosteyneþ,
Whon þou fallest, he þe reiseþ,
Whon þou sittest, he halt þe ek,
Whon þou stondest, he strengþeþ þi feet,
And also, soþ for to say,
He vndursitteþ þe euere and ay;

229

Whon þou gost, he wol þe lede,
Whon þou aȝeyn turnest, resseyueþ þe eke,
Whon þou gost mis, a-ȝeyn calleþ he,
Whon þou art seek, þi cumfort to be.
Such goodnesses in mony degre
Haþ vr lord god I-do for þe.
And goodnesse in þyn herte wore,
Þou weore holden euer-more
Alle dayes to þenke [on him] I-wis,
And alle tymes to þonke for þis,
Alle dayes to speke to [him] Aboue
And alle dayes him hertly loue,
And also wel, ȝit i þe say,
On niht as vppon þe day.
Þerfore þou þat art þus wrouȝt,
At euen and morwe haue þus þi þouȝt
Hou mony þousund men to say
Han perisched in þat niht or þat day,
Summe in bodi, soþ hit is,
Summe in soule leosen her blis;
Summe in fuire and oþur maneere,
Summe in water þat is so clere;
Summe Robbed and woundet also;
Summe sodeynly to deþ han go
Wiþ-outen schrif and hosul þen
Þat hem þe rihte wei scholde ken,
And for defaute of Confessiun
Parauntur go to dampnaciun.

Þenk also, a-noþur is þis
Þat niht and day moni mon is
ffalle in peril of soule way,
Þat þe fend haþ mad hem stray,
Þat is to sei þus forþi
In þe seuen synnes dedly:

In Glotenye and Lecherie,
Monslauȝt also and Envye.
And of alle þeose wikkede chaunses
Haþ crist mad þe diliueraunces,
He haþ þe saued as mihti kyng
Wiþ-outen þyn owne deseruyng!

230

And what hastou don him and whare
Þat haþ þe kept from al þis care?
Ȝif þou toke þus goode kepe
Whon þou awakest of þi slepe,
Hou mony goodnesses he haþ þe do,
And euer is to þe aboute mo,
Þow schuldest him loue souereynli
Ouer al þis world, witterli;
Þou schalt him fynde so bisy now
Euermore a-boute þi prow
As non oþur þyng he aboute were
But þe to kepe whil þou art here.

Whon þou hast þouȝt in þis wyse,
A-Morwe soone vp arise
And þonke þi lord of al þis goode,
Þat for þe wolde dye on Roode,
And sei to him wiþ herte fre
In þis maner þat i sei to þe:

Gracias ago tibi, domine Ihesu criste, qui me [miserum peccatorem] in hac nocte custodi[sti], [protexisti], visitasti, sanum saluum & incolimem ad hanc horam peruenire fecisti, & pro alijs vniuersis beneficiis que michi tua sola bonitate contulisti. Qui viuis & regnas deus per omnia.

Sey þus, for hit is to þi by-heue,
Boþe on Morwen and at eue.

Þenk þenne, I rede, also,
Ar þat þou to þi bed go,
Hou þou hast spendet þi tyme honeste
Whon þou vp ros til þou go to reste;
And whon þou hast bi-þouȝt þe wel,
Bi-sech god merci eueridel
Of al þe synnes þat þou hast wrouȝt,
And goodnesse þou hast do nouȝt
Whil vr lord þe lante miht,
In þat day ne in þat niht.
And loke þou do non oþur dede
Til þou haue þe Comaundet, I rede,
Þe and alle oþur goode eke
In to þe hond of god ful meke,

231

And þenne schaltou þus say
In þis Manere, I þe pray. . . .
What þeos wordus ben to mene,
Ȝe schul on Englich here bi-dene:

“In to þin hondes, lord verray,
And in to þin holy Aungeles ay,
I be-teche þis ilke niht
Mi bodi and soule to þe be diht,
Mi breþeren and my sustren alle,
And al my frendes, what-so bi-falle,
And my nexte frendes eke,
And al my gode doeres, i beo-seke,
And also I be-seche at ene
Alle oþur cristene for to mene.
Kep vs, lord, þis niht in hiȝe,
Þorwh þe beo-sechyng of þi Modur Marie
And of al halewen also
Þat euer weore on eorþe i-do,
ffrom vices and couetyse vn-hende
And ffrom temptaciun of þe fende,
Of sodeyn deþ vnwarned to telle,
And also from þe pyne of helle;
Liht myn herte of þe holy gost,
As þou art lord of mihtes most,
And of þi grete grace þou me take,
To þi Comaundemens me boxum make,
And neuer beo departet from þe
Wiþ-outen ende, so mot hit be.”—
Ȝif þou vse þis-Maner þing,
Þen schaltou haue soþfast knowyng,
To knowe þi lord in whom is al,
Þat haþ þe Mad and saue schal.
Loke þenne þat þis beo þe rif,
Her-wiþ to lede holy lyf.—

Þreo Maners þer beo þen
Of Contemplaciun vs to ken:
Þe furste of hem þat þer is,
In Creatures hit is, i-wis;
Þat oþur in holy writ, we fynde;
Þe þridde in god and in his kynde.

232

Contemplaciun is, siker ȝe beo,
Þe goodnesse of god for to seo.
Bi his Creatures may þou seo þan
Þreo þinges ben In god and Man;
Þis þreo ben, vs to redresse:
Miht, wit, and gret goodnesse. . .
Wit to god þat is sone,
Goodnes to god holigost in wone.
Þorwh his miht, þat wel was torned,
Alle þinges þei ben formed;
Þorwh his wit, so wel demeyned,
Alle þinges wysliche he ordeyned;
Þorwh his goodnesse, not denyed,
Alle þeose þinges he multiplyed.
His pouwer maistou seo þe laft
Þorwh her gretnesse and here schaft;
His wit also wiþ-outen distaunce
Þorwh heore bounte and ordynaunce;
His godnesse may we seo ful newe
Bi heore Multiplicaciun and vertuwe.
Heore gretnesse may we seo
Wiþ foure propurtes þat þer beo,
Þat is folliche for to say
Þorwh heore heiȝnesse and depnesse ay,
Þe oþur two ben of strengþe
Þat is þorwh heore brede and lenge.
His wit maistou seo ful breme,
Ȝif þou þerof take good ȝeme,
Þer as he haþ ȝiue sum creature þore
Beoyng wiþ-outen eny more,
Þat is as muche forte say
As stones þat ben in world al day. . . .

He haþ ȝiue to oþur þynge
Lyf, beoynge, and fleoynge,
And al þise ben bi his hestes
To þat þing þat men callen bestes.

To oþur haþ he ȝiuen also
Lyf, beoynge, and fleoinge bo,
And also more þing of Renoun:
He haþ to hem I-ȝiue resoun;

233

Þis þing is I-ȝiuen þen
Boþe to Aungel and to men.
Stones noþing may þei feele,
Ne grases, and ȝit lyue þei wele;
Bestes lyuen and feleþ þe;
Mon lyueþ and waxeþ as doþ þe tre,
And as a Best feeleþ, he doþ,
And resun as Angel haþ he soþ.
Þenk þou on þat dignite
To creature of Mon is ȝiue so fre,
Hou þat his ȝift wiþ honoures
Sormounteþ alle oþur Creatoures.
Þerfore seiþ Austyn þus fol riht:
“I nolde ben Aungel, þeiȝ I miht,
Heore stat wolde I forsake þan
ffor þat stude was purueyed for man.”

Þenk also, Mon is worþi
Gret schenschipe, witerli,
Þat wol not liue at godus wille
And his Comaundemens folfille,
Whon alle Creatures þat ben and were
Ben ordeynd for monnes mestere.

Þe goode bestes þat meke beo þon,
Beoþ maad for þreo þinges for mon:
ffor to helpen vs wiþ-outen fayle,
As schep, hors, kuyn, in vre trauayle;
And vs to feede, and vs to cloþe,
As leþer, fflesch and wolle boþe,
As Corn on eorþe and foules to be
And also ffissches in þe Séé.

Þe nuyȝing graȝes and bestes venimous
Ben ordeynd for þreo þinges to vs:
ffor chastisyng, and amendement,
And for techyng wiþ good entent.
Chatised and punissched we ben in route
Whon we ben hurt, and in such doute;
And þat is ful derworþli
Of Godus owne grete merci—
Þerfore bodili he com
To Chastise vs, boþe god and Mon,

234

Þat we nere dampned wiþ-outen ende
ffor to dwelle wiþ þe ffende.
We ben amendet whil we wol mynne
Þat al vr wo comeþ fro vr synne;
Whon we seo þe soþe þus
So smale creatures may greuen vs,
Þen may we þinke þat we be
fful of ffebelnesse and of ffrelete,
We ouhten alle to beo ful Meke.
Whon we godus werkes wol se and seke . . .
Whon þou hast þus monyfolde
Þe werkes of god folliche beo-holde,
Lift vp þyn herte wiþ wille liht
And þenk þe Muchelnes of Godus miht,
Þat alle þing ordeyneþ in delyt,
And al hit is for vre profyt.

A, Lord, Merci! what schul we say
Bot we þe serue to þi pay?
Al þat he vs ȝaf to Multiplie,
Alle þo Bestes we distruye;
Ȝif God ordeyne and forme hem,
We beo bisi to struiȝe hem þen.
Loue God for his goodnesse;
Honoure him for his feirnesse;
Glorifye him at þi redres
And also for his grete prouwes.—

Þen is þer a-noþur degre
Of Contemplaciun, I telle þe,
Þe wȝuche trewe and soþ is hit:
Þat is cald holy writ;
Þat wol teche þe wiþ-Inne,
To drawe þe from peril of synne,
Þe peyne forte douten ay,
To loue þe Ioye þat come may.
And euer loke, aboute þou be
To holde wiþ þe Charite,
Þis world also in alle wyse
Þou beo aboute to dispise;
Loke þou what is to done,
And also loke what is to schone.

235

Of þis two þinges seruen hit
Al þat is writen in holy writ:
Þis ben þo two, to trowe,
Þat þou schalt boþe leeue and knowe
Wȝuche ben þe seuen synnes dedly,
And þe seuen vertuwes þerby,
Þe ten Comaundemens al-wey,
And þe twelf Articles of þe fey,
And þe seuen ȝiftus of þe holigost,
And þe seuen sacremens most,
And þe seuen werkes of Merci,
And þe vertuwes of þe Ewangeli,
And þe Ioyes also of heuen
And þe peynes of helle to nemen.

Off þe seuen dedly synnes.

Seuen Sinnes þer ben dedly:
Pruide, Wraþþe, Sleuþe, and Envy,
Glotonye, and gredines also,
Couetyse and lecheri, wiþ hem to go.
Pruide no-þing elles ne is
Bote loue to muche monnes hihnes.
And of him comeþ oþur seuene:
Vnbuxumnes, þat draweþ from heuene,
Aȝeynes god, be þou serteyn,
Or elles aȝeyn his souereyn;
Þat is to sei, I telle þe son,
To leue þat is hym beden don—
Þus is he peired and not mendet,
He doþ þing þat him is defendet.

Þat oþur þing is Auauntyng,
Whon mon of oþur monnes þing
And to him-self bi wikkednes
He hateþ and bringeþ him in distres.

Þe þridde spice is Ypocrisye,
Whon mon feineþ him to haue in hiȝe
Holines þat he haþ nouht,
And doþ his wikkednes in dede and þouȝt.

Þe ffeorþe spice, hit is þen
Dispit þat he haþ to oþur men,

236

Whon mon reherceþ oþur mennes good dede,
He wolde beo holde þe beter in leode.

Þe ffyfþe spice is Arrogaunce boun,
Whon a Mon Makeþ comparisoun
Bi-twenen his vuel doynges
And oþur mennes for eny þinges,
ffor his wikkednes and trespas
Scholde seme muche þe las.

Þe sixte spice is boldnes in nome,
Whon a Mon haþ no schome
Of his grete wikkednes forþi
Þat he haþ don so openly.

Þe seuenþe Elaciun is to rede,
Whon mon is proud of his vuel dede.

Þou schalt wite boþe in and out
Þat þis þreo þinges makeþ Mon prout:
Þat is to wite and haue in muynde
Þe goodes þat he haþ of kuynde,
Þat is of feirnes, or strengþe to say,
Or souereyn wit, or Noblay—
Þat noblei calle I in þis stage
He þat is prout of hei lynage.

Þat oþur þing is and euer was
Þe godus þat men han of purchas,
As wittes, vertuwes euerichane,
Graces, Dignite, and eke good fame.

Þe þridde is worldly godus þus,
As Cloþinge, housynge, Rentes, possessions,
Meyne, and also gret honour
Of þe worldly þinges in eueri stour.

Off Envye comeþ, haue we no care,
Ioye of oþur mennes vuel-fare,
And also to make sweryng gret
ffor oþur mennes wel-farynge and get.
And þat may ben in herte stinkynge,
Or in Mouþ þorwh Bakbytynge,
Or in werkes of vuel entent
Þorwh defaute of good entisement.
Chidyng waxeþ of Wraþþe þen,
Swellyng of herte amonges men,

237

Schomeful wordus þenke to seyn,
Sclaundre, and also gret dedeyn.
Of slouȝþe comeþ drerines, wikkednus, and swelling
Of foul wille, wiþ gret þretyng,
Aboute godus comaundemens not to do,
Wonhope, Rechelesnesse also,
Outrage wille of herte to sen
Aboute þinges þat defendet ben.
Off gredines comeþ tresun prest,
fforswerynges, and wikked rest,
Violence, and hardnes of herte
Aȝeynes Merci wiþ muchel vnquerte.
Þenne þer comeþ of Glotonye
Veyne gladnesse, and Lecherye,
ffulþi, Muche speche in hiȝing,
And ful feble vndurstondyng.
Of Lecherie comeþ blyndnes of herte,
In Orisun wiþ muchel vnqwerte—
In al þe preyers he scholde in be
Nis þer wiþ him no stabulte;
Of him comeþ fool-hastines also,
Loue of him-self wol wiþ hym go,
Hate of god þat vs bouht,
Loue of þis world þat is nouht,
Drede of dispeir Is al his wone
Of þe world þat is to come.
Þeose ben þe seuen dedly synnes forþi.
Wel may þei ben cald dedli:
Þe furste þreo dispoyleþ þe mon,
Þe ffeorþe abateþ hym as he con,
Þe ffyfþe byndeþ him in bonde,
Þe Sixte deseyueþ him in londe,
Þe seuenþe him put in þraldome,
Him to muche harm and schome.
ffor Pruide, beo þou þerof bolde,
Bi-nymeþ a Mon his god to holde;
And Envye bi-nymeþ also him fro
His euencristen, from god to go;
Wraþþhe, þat is a schrewed delf,
Bi-nymeþ a Mon his owne self;

238

Of Slouþe þat ilke foule synne
Euere hit tormenteþ hymme;
Gredines in eueri toun
Casteþ þe vnsely mon adoun;
Glotenye deseyueþ hym in luytel stage;
Lecherie put him in foul seruage.

Seuen blessynges of god.

A ȝein þis seuene vices þus
Ordeynt remedie sone Ihesus,
And send us seuen vertuwes in hihe
In þe holy Ewangelye,
And seiþ þus in þis Manere
As ȝe schul her aftur here:

“Blesset be þe meke of spirit euene,
ffor heoren is þe kynedom of heuene”—
Þis is aȝein pruide and mood,
Þat bi-nymeþ a Mon his god so good.

“I-blesset beo þe deboner þen
Aȝeynes heore euen-cristen men,
ffor þei schul haue in to heore honde
Þe lond þat is euer lastonde”—
Þis is aȝeyn þe foule Envye,
Þat bi-reueþ mon his euencristen trie.

“Blesset beo þo þat wepen ofte,
ffor þei schul beo cumfortet on lofte”—
Þis is aȝeynes wraþþe to delue,
Þat bi-nymeþ a Mon him-selue.

“Blesset be þe Merciable men,
ffor god schal haue Merci of hem”—
Aȝeynes gredynes þis mot be,
Þat of no mon he haþ pite.

“Blesset beo þo þat hungri be þen
Aftur Rihtful, disyr forte ken,
ffor þei schul be fed in blisse”—
Þis is aȝein Slouþe and rechelesnesse.

“Blesset mote þe clene of herte be,
Þe face of god schul þei se”—
Þis is a-ȝeyn glotenye doyng,
Þat euer þenkeþ on flesch lykyng.

239

“Blesset be þe pesybles i-tald,
Godus children schul þei be cald”—
Aȝeynes lecherie þis ordeynt wes,
ffor þe lechour naþ neuer pes;
He naþ no pes for his beste,
He may in herte neuer ha reste.
Þeose ben þe vertuwes seuene
Aȝeyn þe vices forte nempne.

Seuen medicines for þe seuen dedly synnes.

Afftur þis he wol vs teche,
God þat is vr goode leche,
Þis seuen medicines, trie to vs,
To helen vs of seuen Maledius,
And þus he confermeþ hem
In to seuen vertuwes þen
Bi vertue of þe holy gost,
Þat is lord of mihtes most.
Þeose þei ben to nempne þat þing:
Þe holigost of wisdam and of vndurstondyng,
And also, wiþ-outen fayle,
Þe gost of strengþe and of counsayle,
Þe gost of wit and of pite,
Þe gost of doute of god mot be.
Þorwh þis seuen ȝiftes god ȝaf mon
Al þat he haþ neode of þon
To his Bodiliche lyf
And to his soule wiþ-outen strif.
Seo hou mon may in his mode
Leue þe vuel and take þe gode:
To leue þe vuel þat is forbod
Techeþ þe gost of þe doute of god;
Þe gode to do, I telle þe,
Þat techeþ þe gost of pite.

Two þinges þer beo þan
Þat letteþ good doinge of man:
Þat on is worldly riches,
And also gret frouwar[d]nes;
Riches, hit mon deseyueþ,
ffrouwardnes from god him weyueþ.

240

Þerfore a mon schal dispise
Worldly richesse in alle wyse,
Þat he beo not deseyuet beo hit:
Þat vs techeþ þe gost of wit.
And þou schalt suffre stalworþli
Tribulacions and anguyses worldli,
Þat þou neuere ouercomen be:
Þus techeþ þe gost of strengþe to þe.
Þeose foure ben souereynly
To bodiliche lyf forþy.

Þat oþur longen wiþ-outen strif
Alle to þe gostly lyf.
ffor þreo maners bi resun
Ben of Contemplaciun:

On is [in] Creatures bi vre entent:
Þat techeþ þe gost of entendement.

A-noþur in holi writ also,
Þat þou seost what þou schalt do
And what þing þou schalt lete:
Þat techeþ þe gost of counseil swete.

Þe þridde is of him-self, god and Mon:
Þat techeþ þe gost of wisdom.
Now seo we now hou Ihesu þe lele
Is euer aboute vr help and hele.

Þe ten comaundemens of god.

Afftur þis schaltou witen þen
Wȝuche ben þe comaundemens ten.
Þe furste, hit is be þin a-cord:
Worschipe to O god, vr lord.
Þen þe fend þe may not derue,
Ȝif þou him only worschipe and serue.
Worschupe him þorw feiþ and mode,
And serue him wiþ werkes gode.

Þenk ȝif þou haue alle tym
Trewely honoured hym,
And ouer alle oþur þinges
Serue[d] hym and his biddynges;

Þenk ȝif þou haue ȝolden him þi beo-hest
Þat þou be-hiȝtest hym mest or lest:

241

Þou him be-hiȝtest feiþful trist
Whon þou toke þi Baptist;
Or ȝif þou haue lasse penaunce don
Þen þe was leyd penaunce vppon.
Þorwh þis comaundement al-to-gader
Mon is ordeynt to god þe ffader.

Þat oþur bi-heste is forto seyn:
Nempne not godus nome in veyn.
Þorw þat is defendet lesynge,
ffalshede, and forswerynge.
Þorw þat is eueri good mon in wone
Ordeynt touward god þe Sone,
ffor he him-self bereþ witnesse
And seiþ “I am soþnesse” expresse.
Þe þridde heste is forte say
Þat þou kepe wel þin haly-day.
Þat is to sei, vch an heih fest
Þat comeþ þe to, mest or lest,
Haue þin herte in pes and reste most.
Þat ordeyneþ mon to þe holygost.—
Þeose þreo hestes techeþ ow and me
To beren vs to god þe Trinite,
To whos liknesse Mon is mad
In soule, þat scholde be trewe and sad.
Seuene oþure techeþ men
Hou þei schul bere hem to her euen-cristen.
Þe furste is: worschupe þou folly
fflesch-fadur and modur and þi gostly.
And þat in two Maner of þinges:
In boxumnesse and for-berynges,
And help hem bi þi pouwer in dede
Of alle þinges þat þei haue nede.
Þen schalt þou beo of long lyf
In eorþe here wiþ-outen stryf.
Ȝif þou wolt haue þe lyf longe,
Worschupe þi god wiþ wille stronge,
ffor he þe brouȝt, wite hit wel,
Al þi lyf euerich a del.

Þat oþur heste, hit is þon:
In no wey þat þou sle no mon.

242

Þenne schaltou wite here,
Mon-slauȝt is in þreo manere,
In þreo manere hit is ful smerte:
Of hond, of tonge, and of herte.

Of hond hit is wiþ-outen meþ
Whon a Mon wiþ wepene sleþ,
Or whon he putteþ him in dede
In prisun or in oþur stede—
Þat ilke doing cause may be
Of his deþ, as I sei þe. . . .

Monslauȝt of herte is also here
In oþur two vuel manere:
Whon Mon coueyteþ oþures deþ in hiȝe,
Or for de-faute leteþ him dye
And nil not helpen him in þat mester
Ne him deliuere, ȝif he ha pouwer.

Þen is hit þe þridde heste:
To do no lecherie, mest ne leste.
He þat wol lyue wiþ-outen dyȝing
In þe blisse of heuene-kyng,
Him weore neod to kepe ful boun
His dedlyche lyf from corupcioun,
ffrom þat corupciun, sei I,
Þat wol come of his bodi.
Þe ffeorþe heste is, witerli:
To do no þefþe ne Robberi.
He þat wol spare oþurmennes lyf,
Bi-nyme him nouht wiþ no strif,
Þorwh wȝuche bi-nymynge
Þou maiȝt bi-reue his lyuynge.
Þe ffyfþe heste þen is þis:
Þow schalt bere no fals witnes
Aȝeynes þin euen-cristen þen,
Ne also þou schalt not cumforten hem
Þat wolden liue in reste and ro (!)
Heore neihȝebors harm to do.
ffor bi a fals witnesse i-bore
A Mon may worldli beo forlore.
Ȝif þou no counseil in no res
To him þat wolde liuen in pes

243

Wiþ hys euen-cristen to debate;
ffor ȝif þou dost, hit torneþ to wrake.
Þe sixte heste wiþ-outen strif:
Coueite þou nouȝt þi neiȝebors wyf,
Ne non of his seruauns also,
Ne nouȝt þat him longeþ to.

Þe seueþe heste is þus, I-wis:
Coueyte þou not þi neiȝebors godis.
Þis two hestes acordyng ben
To þo bifore as ȝe may sen,
Þer he seiþ to þe in hiȝe
“Do no þefþe, ne lecherie,”
ffor he þat haþ wikked wille and smert,
Wikked entent is in his hert,
He may not longe for no þing
Holden him from mis-doing.
Þerfore I warne þe nou so,
Þat þou lecherie ne do;
Ȝif þou wolt not stele nou,
Oþur mennes good coueite not þou.
Þeos ben þe ten hestes to say
Þat god ȝaf Moyses in þe Mount of Synay.

Þe furste þreo, witeþ hit wel,
Ben to godus honour eueridel;
And to þi-self longen þe seuene,
To louen alle cristene euene.

Þe seuen vertues of god.

Aftur scha[l]tou wite wȝuche ben
Þe seuen vertuwes vppon to sen,
Þat is to wite: ffeiþ, hope, and loue,
Qweyntise, Rihtfulnes a-boue,
Temperaunce, and strengþe mest.
Of O Matere ben þeos two hest
And þe seue vertuwes in presens,
Saue þis is þe differens:

Þe ten hestes techeþ hou þou schalt do,
Þe seuen vertuwes techeþ þe matere also.

Þe ffurste þreo þat ben aboue,
Is to wite, ffeiþ, Hope, and Loue,

244

Þise þreo, þei ordeyne hou þou schalt
Touward god liue þat al walt;
And þis oþere her-aftur seuene
Teche þe to knowe þe wey to heuene.

Ȝe wite wel, my leue ffrende,
Alle beo we formed to on ende:
Þat is to seye, god to knowe,
Him to loue and honoure we owe.
Bote þreo þinges, ar we wende,
Beon nedful to come to vre ende:
And þenne is þis þat on
To wite whodur we schulle gon;
Þat oþur, þat we ben willi
To gon in trust ful treweli;
And þenne is þe þridde þinge:
To haue trust of wel goinge—

Gret folye hit were to fo or ffrende
To bi-ginne þing he may not ende.
A Mon þat wol wel do þer-tille,
Moste ha miht, Connyng, and wille,
Þat is to say þus ȝow to:
Þat he con, Mai, and wol [wel] do.
But for we haue not vs ner
Of vr-self Miht, Wit, ne pouwer,
Þerfore haþ god ȝiuen vs tille
ffeiþ, alle þise to folfille.
ffeiþ ordeyneþ vs to god þe sone,
To whom is a-propred wisdam in wone;
Hope ordeyneþ vs to þe ffadur riht,
To whom is a-propred Miht;
Loue to þe Holigost doþ vs dresse,
To whom is a-propred alle goodnesse.
And þerfore of god wiþ-outen lesynge
ffeiþ doþ vs to haue knowynge;
And þat knowynge of god wiþ mood
Ȝiueþ vs frely and largeli of his good:
And out of þat godnesse is i-crope
And comeþ to vs þenne hope;
Of þat knowyng, I vndurstod,
Þer he seiþ vs þat he is good,

245

Þer-of comeþ feir aboue
Þe þridde vertue þat is loue,
ffor vch a þing, Resun whi,
Schal loue þe goode kuyndeli.

Þe twolue articles of þe fey.

Þen schaltou wite, as I þe sei,
Whuche ben þe .xij. Articles of þe fei.
ffurst, god is on in him-self for to lende,
And þre persones, wiþ-outen ende,
And is verrey God and lord
Þat alle þing made wiþ his word.

Þat oþur article is ful trye:
Þat he tok flesch and blod of Maide Marie.

Þe þridde Article: þat he was bore þon
Of hire, soþfast god and mon.

Þe fferþe Article, we sen hit red:
Vndur Pilatus pouwer was he ded,
Not for nede, I sei ow tille,
But vs to buye of his ffreo wille.

Þe ffyfþe is, soþ to telle:
Þat his soule wente doun to helle
And fet hem out in to his blis,
Alle þo þat weren his.

Þe Sixte: þat he ros wiþ-outen striue,
God and Mon, from deþ to lyue.

Þe seueþe is in vre sawes:
Aftur þe fulle fourti dawes
Of his blisful and hard dyȝing
He steih to heuene þer he is kyng;
He þat is lord of Séé and Sond
Sitteþ þer on his fadur riht hond.

Þe eihteþe is: he schal present
Beon atte day of Iugement,
Goode and wikkede schal he deme
And alle þing as him wol bi-seeme.

Þe Niþe is wiþ-outen bost:
Þat in god is þe holygost,
And euermore so wol be,
Þe þridde persone of þe trinite;

246

Of whom, þat is so heiȝ in blis,
Al-holichirche halewed hit is.

Þe tenþe is of comynge of holi men,
Þat is to sei fulliche of hem
Þat ben lymes of holychirche
And no dedly synne nul worche,
Han part of alle goode dedes sone
Þat in holi chirche ben done.

Þe Elleueþe is: þorw þe sacrament
Of holichurche wiþ good entent
Þe goode schul haue forȝiuenesse
Of heore synnes more and lesse.

Þe twelfþe is þat Mon and wyue
Schullen arise from deþ to lyue.

Þe þrettenþe is: þe goode schul haue
Euerlastinde lyf þat schal hem saue,
And þis oþure þenne schul wende
To lastyng pyne wiþ-outen ende.

Þe Seuen sacromens of holy churche.

Afftur þis schul ȝe here bi-ginne
Þe sacramens seuen þat fordon synne;
He hem ordeynde synne to wiþ-stonde
And þe gode to take on honde.
Þe furste is cald Baptisme,
Þat child takeþ er þen his crisme;
Þat clanseþ mon of þat synne
Þat vr forme-fader brouȝt us inne.

Þat oþur sacrament is of renoun
And is cald Confirmacioun:
ffor whon he is so cristned þon,
He confermeþ þe holigost in mon.

Þe þridde is penaunce to biginne,
Þat freteþ a-wei þe fulþe of synne.

Þe feorþe is sacrament of þe Auter,
Þat confermeþ mon hol and feer
And ȝiueþ him strengþe good wiþ-alle,
Þat he eft-sones in synne ne falle;
Þat sacrament reconsileþ him ay,
Susteyneþ him, þat he ne falle may.

247

Þe ffifþe is ordre, þat ȝiueþ power
To Men ordeynet in heore mester
Þe sacramens to make and worche,
To serue wiþ god and holi churche.

Þe Sixte is Matrimoyne to bigynne,
Þat defendeþ dedly synne
In werkes of generaciun þon
Bi-twene mon and wommon.

Þe seueþe is þe enoyling
Of seke in perel of diȝing,
And þat is in Aleggaunce
Of Bodi and soules penaunce.
Þeos ben þe sacramens þen,
Þat longeþ to alle cristene Men.

Þe seuen principal vertues.

Aftur þis nou wite we schal
Wȝuche ben þe iiij. vertuwes principal,
Bi wȝuche vche monnes lyf here
Is gouernet in þis world so dere:
Qweyntise, Rihtfulnes bi chaunce,
Strengþe, and also Temperaunce.
Of þeos foure spekeþ þe holygost
In þe Bok of wisdam most
Þat no þing bi good delyt
In eorþe to Mon doþ more profyt.
ffor hose to do wel vndurstode,
He moste knowe vuel from goode,
Also, he seoþ here bi lettre,
He moste knowe þe gode from þe bettre:
Þat vs techeþ in alle wyse
Þat þyng þat is called queyntyse.
And whon þou hast þus i-chose,
Þe wikked from þe goode to lose
Þat techeþ þe vertue to distresse
Þat is cleped Rihtfulnesse.

Two þinges þer ben in world ful þikke
Letteþ mon do good and takeþ wikke:
Þe riches of þis world is on,
Þat alle weyes deseyueþ mon,

248

He disseyueþ mon in mony þinges,
þorwh swete restynges;
A-noþur is Contek of worldli strif
Aȝeynes mon, doun hym to dryf.
Aȝeynes richesse mesure þe in tide,
Beo þou not risen to muche in pride:
Þat vertu is wiþ-outen distaunce
Þis þat men calleþ temperaunce.

Aȝeynes worldly cuntek and strif
Loke brennynge wille beo þe rif,
Þat þou beo not so feble boun
Þat þe world þe caste a-doun:
And þat vertue in brede and lengþe
Is þat þat is i-cleped strengþe.

Seuen werkes of mercy.

Afftur schaltou wite redili
Wȝuche ben seuen werkes of Merci.
Þe furste is, ȝiue þe hungri mete;
Þat oþur, drinke þe þrusti to gete;
Þe þridde, cloþe þe naked bi tymes;
Þe ffeorþe, to herborwe pilgrymes;
Þe ffyfþe, prisons to visyte swete;
Þe Sixte is, cumforte þe seke;
Þe seueþe, in certeyn place we rede,
Þat is to helpe burie þe dede.—

Þen maistou sey in tour and toun:
“I þat am in Religioun,
I naue no pouwer to ȝiue no mete,
Ne drinke ne herborwe to hem gete,
Ne cloþing to hem haue I non,
To visite prisones may I not gon:
I am in oþur monnes pouwer;
Þerfore me were beter seculer,
Þat I mihte do trewely
Alle þeose dedes of Mercy.”

Þenk not þus, I rede þe,
Leste þou her-Inne deseyued be.
Betere hit is to þe in eueri toun
To haue pite and compassioun

249

In þyn herte in alle weyse
Of hem þat þou seost in Meseyse,
Þen þou heddest al þe world wiþ þe
Hit forth to dele for charite.
Ȝif þi-self, as I sei nou,
And more þen al þe world ȝiuestou
ffor þei þat suffre in alle wyse
Chele, hungur, defaute and Miseise,
Ihesu seiþ wher-so he go
And him-self he clepeþ þo;

Þus he seiþ in his gospel—
Hose wol hit seche, may fynde hit wel:
“What to þe leste of myne don be,
Ȝe hit don al to me.”
Wheþer weor beter or more sen
To Iuge or elles Iugged to ben?
Þerfore to pore make þe liche,
ffor þe pore schul Iugge þe riche;
As vr lord seiþ feire and wel
In his owne goode gospel:
“Ȝe þat alle þynges haue to proue,
Leueþ hem for me and for my loue,
And at þe grete day of dome,
Whon I schal sitten in my trone—
ffor þere þo men schul me se
In þe Seete of my Maieste—
Þei schul sitte on twelf seges wel
And Iugge þe twelf kuyndes of Israel.”
Wheþer weore hit better at þe leste
Haue heuene in possession or in bi-heste?
ffor þus seiþ God, witeþ wel,
In his holy Godspel:
“Blesset mote þe pore of spirit be,
ffor heoren is heuene,” as I sei þe.
He seiþ not þus in his steuen
Heoren “schal beo” þe kyngdam of heuen,
But he hem doþ to vndurstonde
Þei ben in possessiun and in honde.
Seint Bernard in a sarmoun seiþ euen:
“Þe pore naþ not in erþe, ne riche in heuen.”

250

And ȝif þe riche wol heuene haue,
At þe pore he mot hit buye and craue.—
Nou is hit good for to sen
Wȝuche þat verreylich pore ben,
And also þulke oþere iliche
Wȝuche þei ben, þat ben cleped riche.
Summe ben þat han riches þikke
And hem louen wiþ al heor witte:
Þo ben þis riche gredi men,
And euer coueyten þe world þen.

Oþur þer ben in dede and þouȝt
Wolde be riche, but þei may nouȝt;
ffor and þei hadden worldus good,
Þei wolden hit loue as þei were wod:
Þulke ben þeose, soþ to telle,
Þe caytyf beggers þat nouȝwher wol dwelle,
But euer þei reyken aboute to craue,
Al þat þei seon þei wolde hit haue;
Also wiþ hem sette we moun
Þis fals folk of Religioun.
Þeos ben as riche in vnquerte
As þeos oþure and as proude of herte;
Crist spekeþ of hem in þe gospelle
And þus þe wordus doþ he telle:
“A Chamayle mihte beter pase
Þorwh anelde yȝe þenne in case,
Þen miht such a riche mon
In heuene come to þat kyndom.”

Summen þat richesse is to brouht,
Han hit, but þei louen hit nouht,
But neuerþeles, þe soþ to saue,
ffayn þei ben riches to haue:
Þos ben þese, to seye ow here,
Þe goode men of þe world so dere,
Þat al heore richesse wol dispende
ffor loue of god þat hit sende.
Bote þe more harm is forþi,
Suche ben fewe, witerli!

Oþur þer ben, soþ hit is,
Þat haue not of þis worldus blis

251

Ne no þing þerof doþ craue
Ne nolde not, þauh þeiȝ mihte, hit haue:
Þis ben holy religious þerfore
And oþure, þat mai wel beo cald pore;
Heoren is þe Ioye euerlastonde
Wiþ god and wiþ godus sonde.
Þen may we here-of nou say:
“Blesset beo þe pore in spirit ay,
ffor heoren is þe kyndom
Þer as dwelleþ God and Mon.”

Þenne drede we on þat oþur syde
Leste þe wariing hem bi-tyde,
To þis ilke riche men,
Leste þei schulle in helle bren.
Pore þei ben in heor herte
Þat ben pore and louen pouerte,
And þei ben pore in querte
Þat han riches and louen pouerte.

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

Lustneþ, lordynges, leof and dere,
Ȝe þat wolen of þe sonday here!
Þe sonday a day hit is
Þat angeles and archaungeles Ioyen, I-wis,
More in þat ilke day
Þen eny oþur, as I þe say.
Þen wol we her ate dwelle
Ho preyed furst rest for soules in helle.
Þat is to witen, I sei þe so,
Poul and Michel Archaungel bo.
ffor god of his grete miht
Þe peynes of helle put in heore siht.
Poul sayh bi-foren helle ȝates
Brennynge tres þat neuer slakes;

252

Mony on for heore synne þonne
Weore I-pyned and honged þer-onne:
Summe bi hondes and bi feet þere,
Summe bi þe her, summe bi þe ere,
Summe bi þe Armes þat weore longe,
And summe þer hengen bi þe tonge.

He sauȝ a caudren brennynge at enes
Of diuerse colours wiþ seue lemes,
And þer weore þei for heore synne
Diuersliche I-pynet þer-Inne;
And seuen peynes weoren þer also
Þat duden þe soules muche wo:

Þe furste of snouȝ, þe secunde of ys,
Þe þridde fuir in alle wys,
Þe ffeorþe blod, as I þe say,
Þe ffyfþe Eddres of foul aray,
Þe sixte leyt, as mon may þink,
Þe seueþe peyne hit was of stynk.
At þat penaunces were þei in cast,
Synful soules, and al for-þrast,
Þe wȝuche þat nolden in no chaunce
ffor heore synnes do no penaunce;
Þer weore þei turmented in þo ledes,
And vche reseyued aftur his deedes.
Summe wepten and ȝelled þenne,
Summe gouleden, and summe dude brenne;
Þei disireden euere to dye—
Hit miht not beo, wiþ-outen lyȝe,
ffor þe soule, wher-so hit go,
Schal neuer dyen, for weole nor wo.
Þerfore sore hit is to drede
Þe places of helle for wikkedhede!
In þe wȝuche þer is a whel brennynge,
Wiþ muche serwe euer-lastynge;
Vndur þat wheol is þer þore
A þousund grisly peynes sore,
ffyue tyme vche day, to telle,
Beo turmented wiþ þe Angel of helle,
In vche of þo fyue tymes
Ben a þousund soules turmented in pynes.

253

Aftur þat sayh he, þer he stod,
A wondur orible grisly flod,
And in þat flod say he þere
Mony deueles bestes were:
As ffissches þei were in þat flod þo,
Todus, Neddres, Snakes, mony mo,
And þe synful soules in hiȝ
Eten and gnowen wiþ-outen merci—
Of hem tok I no more kep
But as a Lyun doþ of a schep.
Ouer þat watur he sayȝ ligge
A wondur long and an heiȝ brugge,
And ouer þat brugge saf goon þen
Þe soules of good rihtful men
Wiþ-outen harm of word or dede,
And also wiþ-outen eny drede.

Þe soules of synne[r]s, as I þe telle,
ffallen doun þer, in pyne to dwelle,
Þer to take and resseyue so
As þei on eorþe deserueden to.
Be war of þis, I sei, beo-fore,
As God seide in þe gospel þore:

Ligate per fasciculos ad comburendum:

Byndeþ hem in knucchenus forþi,
To brenne, lyk to licchi,
Spous-brekers wiþ lechours,
Rauisschers wiþ rauisschours,
Wikked wiþ wikked also,
ffor so schul þei to-gedere go.
ffor eueri creature go schal
Bi þat brugge sum or al,
And lasse or more schal he be deruet,
Er aftur he haþ heer deseruet.

Þer sauh þe goode mon poule
In þat pyne moni diuerse soule:
Summe to þe kne, and summe to þe hipes,
Summe to þe nauel, summe to þe lippes,
And summe he sauȝ bi-suyled as souwes
In þat pyne vp to þe brouwes;

254

And þei weore turmented euerlastyngly,
Þei wept and gouled and weore sory.

And Poules herte was so sor
Þat for serwe he wepte þor.
And of þat Angel asked he
Whi summe were þer in to þe kne.

Þe Angel seide to him þen:
“Heo ben Bacbyters of men,
Þat in word and dede, as I þe say,
Hyndren heor euencristen þat þei may.

And þo þat to þe nauel þou se,
Spousbrekers and lechours þei be,
Þat aftur heore dedes, to vndurstonde,
Nolde no penaunce take on honde.

And þo þat weren up to þe lippes blake,
Stryf and Iangelyng in chirche dude make,
Vche to oþur Iangled wiþ scorn—
To heere godus wordus þei han forborn.

And þo þat weren vp to þe briȝes
In þat flod aboue þe eiȝes,
Þulke weore glade of þe mischeef
Of heore neihȝebors and of heore greef.”

And Poul wepte and seide þo:
“Muche wo is hem I-come to
Þat so mony peynes grymme
Ben ordeynt to for heore synne!”

Seynt Poul þo bi-tornd his face
And sayȝ anoþur derk place,
Moni Men and wymmen þer amongus
Þat for-freten heore owne tonges.

And Poul asked of him þere
What-maner men þat þei were.
Þe Aungel seide to him ful sleih:
“Þei vsuden Ocur and vsuri;
Merciable weore þei nouht,
Þerfore hit schal be dere abouht.”

And Poul sauȝ þenne a-noþur plas,
Þat moni peynes þer-in was;
Þer he sauh dispitous þing:
As Blake Maydens in Blac cloþing,

255

And þei sodun euerichon
In wellyng pich and Brumston;
Brennyng dragouns and serpentes ifere
Hongynge aboute heor nekkes were,
Gnawyng hem, to don hem schom,
To-tere þe fflesch from þe bon.
And þer weore foure Angeles to telle
Þat weoren of þe hous of helle,
Brennynge hornes hedde þei on hed;
Þei hem turmented and dude hem qued,
ffaste þei wente þis pepul a-boute
Wiþ moni turmentes grete and stoute,
Seying to hem, as was heore wone:
“Knoweþ ȝe,” þei seide, “godus sone,
Þe wȝuche þat muche on ȝou þouȝt,
Al þe world whon he bouȝt?
ffor ȝe nolde neuer knowen him
Ȝe schullen han here þeos pynes grym.”

Poul þis asked feire and wel.
And þenne onswered þe Aungel:
“Þeos serued not chastite
Til tyme of heor weddynge schulde be,
But lyuede in heore lecherie,
And heled heore children and dude hem dye
And ȝaf hem to swyn or to houndes
Or drouned hem In flodes groundes,
And schewed hem to þe worldus degre
As þei maydens hedden i-be;
And in þis lyf þei lyueden ȝore
And duden no penaunce þerfore.”

Aftur þis he sayȝ at ene
Men and wymmen moni and lene,
Lene þei weore, wiþ-outen flesche;
Þei soffred harde and noþing nessche:
Muche lay bi-foren hem of Mete
Þat hem deynet not of to ete.
Þo weore þeose þat weore not trewe
And nolde not faste þat hem was duwe,
And hedden of mony metes dedeyn,
But hit weore likerous, be certeyn.

256

Þen sauȝ poul a serwȝful siht—
And he loked þer forþ riht:
An Old mon sat þer wepynge
Bi-twene four deueles foul ȝellynge.

Poul asked what he was.
And þe Angel seide in plas:
“He was Neclygent aȝeynes forbod
And kepte not þe lawes of God,
He nas not chast of bodi i-souȝt
Ne of herte ne of his þouȝt,
But euer he was Couetous,
Proud of herte and contrarius;
Þerof nolde he him not schriue
Ne do no penaunce bi his lyue,
Þerfore he schal beo pyned ay
Wiþ-outen Noumbre til domus-day.”

Poul wepte and bigon to goule.
Þe Angel seide: “whi wepustou, poule?
Ȝit sayȝ þou not, as I þe telle,
Þe strengest peyne þat is in helle.”

Þe Angel him schewed wiþ-outen weoles
A put a-seled wiþ seuen seles.
He bad him stonde bac, for þat þing,
Þat he mihte sustene þat stynk.
He opened þe Mouþ of þat put:
Hit stonk foule wȝon hit was vnschut;
Þe stynk þat com out of þat plas
Passed al þe peynes and stinkes þer was.

Þen seide þat Angel, to biginne:
“Hose comeþ þis put wiþ-Inne,
Bi-fore God and vre ladi
Schal neuer of him beo no merci.”

Poul askede: “wȝuche ben þo
Þat schulen to þis peyne go?”
He seide: “hose leeueþ not in wone
Þat Iesu crist, Godus sone,
Tok fflesch and blod of þe virgine Marie
And seþþe was boren of hire bodye;
And also þulke, I telle hit þe,
Þat neuer wollen Baptiȝed be,

257

Þulke þat resseyue not worþily
Þe flesch and blod of godus bodi.”
Poul loked forþur þen
And sauȝ ful mony men and wymmen;
Wormes and serpentes on hem seeten,
Euer as houndes þei on hem freeten.
So mony soules þer weore in hold,
Vehon on oþur, as schep in fold.
Hit was also dep to nemene
As from þe eorþe vp to heuene.
Of heore serwyng was muche wondur,
Þei made a noyse as hit weore þundur.

And þenne poul loked touward heuene,
And out of eorþe he herde a steuene;
A synful soule he sauȝ comynge
Among seue deueles waymentynge;
Þe wȝuche þat same day forþi
Was itaken from þe bodi.

Þe Angeles of God, þat ben vr frendes,
Criȝeden faste to þe ffendes,
Seyȝinge allas, makynge heore mon:
“What haþ þat wrecched soule i-don?”

Þe ffendes seiden: “verreyment,
He haþ seȝen his Iuggement;
He haþ ben muche mys-auyset,
Godus Comaundemens he haþ dispyset,
In eorþe he lyued in foly
And þer dude he no remedi.
His owne cha[r]tre haþ he rad
Þat his synnes were Inne I-sprad,
And so forþ, we telle þe,
His owne self þen Iugged he.”

Þen tok þe deueles and him bounde,
And caste hym in to þe derkeste grounde,
Þer as was wepyng wiþ muche vnseeþe,
Goulyng and grisbatyng of teþe.

Þen seide to poul þat Aungel:
“Leeue þou hit and knowe hit wel:
So as Mon doþ in his lyuing
So schal he haue aftur his endyng.”

258

Aftur þat þis was forþ so sent,
In-wiþ þe space of a moment,

Aungeles of heuene saiȝ he come þon,
Brouhten þe soule of a Rihtful mon.
Þer was Ioye wiþ loud steuene,
ffor so þei beeren hit in to heuene;
Of a þousund Angeles he herde þe vois,
Ioynge wiþ a semely noys,
And seiden: “murie soule, blesset þou be,
ffor euer murþe schal beo wiþ þe!
Þou art i-blesset of God in trone:
Þe wille of Ihesu hastou done.”

Þen seide þe Angeles in heore seiȝing:
“Ledeþ hym vp to-foren vr kyng!
Glad may he ben of alle clerkes
Þat schal him-self rede his goode werkes.”
Aftur þat Mihel lede him in hiȝ
To paradys to oþur holi.
A Ioyful noyse was hem among
Of Angeles and Archangeles wiþ song.
Þei þat in peyne bi-neþen lyȝe,
Herden þis and al hit seiȝe;
Þei ȝelleden wiþ lodly cry:
“Poul, Michael, on vs ha merci!
Prei for vs wiþ good a-cord
To vre god and to vre lord!”

Þen seide þe Angel to hem þo:
“Weputh! poul and I wolen also,
Þat Almihti God, þat may best,
Send ȝow sum refuit and sum rest.”

And þeose þat in peyne weore
Cried on God wiþ delful beere;
Michael and poul also,
And a Legioun of Aungelus mo.
Þe soun of hem was herd ful euene
Vp in to þe ffeorþe heuene,
Seiȝinge “haue merci on hem,
Þe Sone of God and eke of mon.”

And þenne þei þe heuene seih
Open a-non ful sodeynly,

259

Þe Sone of god com doun þo
And herde hem preye, mony on mo,
Þei preieden alle ful tenderli
“Haue merci on vs, sone of Daui!”
Þe vois þenne of vre heuene kyng
Ouer al þe peynes was herd seying:
“What good ha ȝe don herbifore
Þat ȝe aske reste so sore?
I was don on cros for ȝou wiþ dere
And smiten wiþ a ful scharp spere,
I-nayled also wiþ nayles þree,
Eysel and Galle to drynke bode me;
I ȝaf my-self for ȝou to be,
ffor ȝe schulde ouer come wiþ me.
Bote ȝe weore þeues, coueytous,
Proude and wroþe and envyous,
Good neuer nolde ȝe do non
Ne to schrift nolde ȝe not gon,
Ne do penaunce for no þing
Wiþ Almusdedes ne wiþ fastyng,
But ȝe weore lyȝers al ȝor lyf
And liueden euere in serwe and strif.”
Þen kneled Poul and Mihel
And a Milioun Angeles wel
Bi-fore þe sone of God, to pray
Þei moste ha reste þe sonenday.
Þo weore þeos, as I ow telle
Þat weoren in þe pynen of helle.
Þen seide vr lord to hem in spelle:
“ffor Poul and also Michaelle
And myn oþure Angeles on hiȝe,
Þat ben in heuene so goode and triȝe,
And also of my grete goodnesse,
Hem to ese of heore distresse,
Þis rest I ȝiue ȝow ful soon
ffrom þe seter-day at Non
Til þe secunde hour beo cum
On þe Monenday, al and sum.”

A non þe soules hedden þer rest—
He ȝaf hit hem þat mihte best.

260

Þe soules criȝed euerichon:
“Blesset beo þou, lord, sone of mon,
Lord and God of Dauid kuynde!
Þis rest bi þe haue we in Muynde.”—

Þerfore, whos halweþ wel þe sonenday,
He schal ha part of þe reste ay
Þat þe Angeles in heuene
Han þere wiþ mylde steuene.

Beo war of þe serwe and drede
And of þe peynes þat we her rede,
And torne we in alle wyse
Vr lord to serue, þat hiȝe Iustise;
Bi wȝuche seruyse we may come
To vre lord god and wiþ him wone.

XXXIV. þe Pope trental.

I-writen I fynde a good stori,
Þe Pope hit wrot seint Gregori,
Of his Modur and of hire lyf,
Þat alle men heolden an holi hosewyf,
So sad of Maner, so mylde of Mood,
Þat alle men heolden hire holi and good;
De-boner, deuout, so milde of steuene,
Þat alle men gesset hire worþi to heuene.

261

As holi I-holden as heo was,
Þe fend ȝit falled hire in a foul cas,
He truyled hire wiþ his tricherye
And ladde hire in to lecherye,
Þat lust wiþ loue hire so be-gylede,
So foule, til heo was wiþ childe.
So priueliche noþeles heo hire bar
Þat þer-of nas no wiht I-war.
And for no wiht schulde wite hire cas,
Anon as hire child I-boren was,
Þe Nekke heo nom, þe child heo woriede,
And a-non þe child heo buriede.

Þus was heo cumbred in careful cas,
Ne schewed neuer schrift þerof, allas!
ffor heo wolde holy I-holde be,
Heo tolde neuer prest hire priuite;
Al folk fayn was of hire fame,
So holy as heo was holden of name.

Eft-sones hir fel þe same cas
Riht as bi-foren bi-tyd hire was.
ffor heo was comen of prys parage,
Of riche kun, of gentil lynage,
Hire sone was seynt Gregori þe pope,
Men heolden hire holy wiþ al heore hope,
Þerfore heo schonede hir schrift to schowe,
Leste by schrift hire cas weor knowe.
So schome makeþ men schone heor schrift
And leose þe grace of godus ȝift,
And siþen to liuen so sunfulli

262

And sorily dyen and sodeynli.

Þis wommones dedes ner not aspyet,
And softly sone þer-aftur heo dyed.
Whon heo was seyen so softly dye,
Men hopede heo weore in heuene ful hiȝe,
Men heolden hir holy and so deuoute
Þat of hire deþ men hedden no doute,
But wenden witerly alle to-wisse
Þat heo weore set in souereyn blisse.

Þer-aftur wiþ-Inne a luytel tyme
Vp-on a day sone aftur prime
Hire sone þe pope at Masse stood,
And of his Modur trouwed bote good.
Al sodeynliche a-Midde his messe
Þer drouh touward him such a derknesse
Þat lakkede al þe dayes lyht
And was derk as hit weore midniht;
And in þat derknesse a myst among,
Al stoneyd he was, such stunch þer stong;
Þer-of so grislich he was a-gast
Þat al swounyng he was al-mast.
Beo-syde he loked vndur his leor:
A-Midde þe derknesse þer drouȝ on ner
A wonder grisli creature,
Riht aftur a fend ferde hire feture;
So Ragget, so Rent, so elyng, so vuel,
As hidous to bi-holden as helle-deuel;
Mouþ and Neose, Eres and Eȝes

263

fflaumed al ful of furi liȝes.
He asked hit heiȝlich: “þorwh his miht
Þat alle deueles schal dreden and diht,
And eke bi vertu of his blood
Þat for Monkynde diȝed on Rod,
Sey me a-non þe soþe soone:
What hastou in þis place to done?
What is þi cause, þou cursede wrecche,
Þus me at Masse to derue and drecche?”
Þe gost onswerde wiþ dreri cher:
“I am þi Moodur þat þe beer,
Þat for vn-schriuene dedes derne
In bitter peynes þus i berne.”

Þen onswerd þe pope: “allas,
Allas, my Modur, þis wondur cas!
Allas, my Modur, hou may þis be,
In such aray I þe to seo?
Men wenden witerli to-wisse
Þou weore wel worþi to habbe blisse
And þat ful wel wiþ God þou were,
To preyen for us þat liuen ȝit here.
Sey me, modur, wiþ-outen feyne,
Whi art þou put to al þis peyne?”

Heo seide: “my sone, soþfastly
I schal þe telle þe cause why:
ffor I nas not such as I seemed,
But wikked and worse þen men me demed,

264

I sungede wikkedliche in my lyue,
Of wȝuch I ne dorste for schome me schriue;”
Heo tolde him trewely al hire cas
ffrom ende to oþur riht as hit was.

“Sei me, Modur, for Marie flour,
Ȝif ouȝt may beo þi socour,
Wher penaunce of fasting mai ouȝt alegge,
Beodes or Masses þi peynes abregge,
Or eny-maner oþur þyng
Þat þe mai helpe of eny lissyng?”

“Mi deore Blessede sone,” seide heo,
“fful wel I-holpen I mihte beo,
Holpen and saued I mihte beo wel
Hose vndurtoke a trewe trentel
Of ten cheef festes of al þe ȝer
To synge for me in þis Maneer:

Þreo Masses of Cristes Natiuite,
And of þe Ephiphan oþur þre,
Þreo of þe Purificaciun,
And þreo of þe Annunciaciun,
Þreo of þe Resurrexiun,
And þreo of þe Ascenciun,
Of þe Pentecost oþur þre,
And þreo of þe holy Trinite,
Þreo of Maries Natiuite,
And of hire Concepcioun oþur þre”—

265

Þeose weoren þe cheef festes ten
Þat souereynliche socourde synful men.
“What godmon syngeþ þeos masses, saunfayle,
To synful soule þei schullen auayle,
Wiþ þe ȝeer wiþ-outen treyne
Diliueren a soule ful out of peyne.
Let sei þeos Masses bi ȝoure hestes
Wiþ-Inne þe vtaues of þe ffestes!
And he þat schal þeos Masses do,
Let sei þer-wiþ þe Orisun þer-to,
Treoweliche wiþ-outen were
Eueri day þorwh-out þe ȝere,
Heet him sei hit eueri day,
Oþur he þat doþ þe Masses to say.”

Hose wol knowe þis orisun clene,
Hit is on Englisch þus muche to mene:
“God, vr verrey Redempciun,

Oracio

Vr soþfast soules sauaciun,
Þat chose al oþur londes bi-forn
Þe lond of bi-heste In to beo born,
And þi deþ suffredest in þat same,
Diliuere þis soule from gult and blame,
Tak hit out of þe fendes bond,
And þat lond from þe heþene hond,
And peple þat leueþ not in þe
Þorwh þi vertu amendet mote be;
And alle þat trusteþ In þi Merci,
Lord, saue hem sone and soþfastli!”

“A Modur,” he seide, “þat wol I do,
ffor I am mon most I-holde þer-to—
Þou weore my Modur, I was þi sone—
To synge þe Masses I schal not schone;

266

God graunte me, Modur, þe stonde in stede
Aȝeynes þe synnes þat euer þou dude.
I halse þe heiȝliche, Modur deere,
Þis tyme twelf-Moneþ to me a-peere,
Hol þin a-stat to me þou schowe,
Þat, hou þou fare, I mouwe wel knowe!”
“Mi sone,” heo seide, “I wole, in ffey,”
And wiþ þat word heo wente hir wey.
So day from day þe ȝer con passe,
Þe pope for-lette neuer his Masse
Þe same dayes þat weoren asignet,
To helpen his Modur þat was so pynet,
And tok þe Orisun al-gate þer-to
Als, as his Modur preiȝede him do.
Þat tyde twelf-Moneþ at Masse he stod
Holyliche wiþ deuociun good:
And in þat same tyde apliht
He sayȝ a swiþe selli siht,
A comeli ladi, so dresset and diht
Þat al þe world of hire schon briht,
Comeli Corouned as a Qweene,
Tweyn Angeles ladden hire hem bi-twene.
He was so Rauischt of þat siht,
Al-most for Ioye he swounede riht.
He fel doun flat bi-foren hire feet,
Þe teres of his eȝen he doun leet,

267

He grette hire wiþ wel mylde steuene
And seyde: “ladi, Qween of heuene,
Moodur of Ihesu, Mylde Marie,
ffor my moodur Merci I crie.”

“[D]o wey,” heo seide, “I nam not heo
Ne whom þou wenest þat I beo,
Bote, soþlyche, as þou seost me her,
I am þe Moodur þat þe beer.
Bi-foren i ferde, þou wustest wel,
ffarynge as a fend of hel,
I am nou such as þou sest her,
Þorwh help and vertu of þi preyer,
ffrom derknesse i-dresset to blisse cleer.
Þe tyme beo blesset þat I þe beer!
And for þe kuyndenesse of þi deede
Souereyn Ioye schal beo þy Meede.

And alle þat leteþ þeos Masses þus do,
Schul saue hem-self and soules also.
Þerfore, Sone, þis storie þou preche!
Mi dere sone, god I þe be-teche.”

Whon heo hedde endet þis wordes euene,
Angeles token hire hom to heuene.
Þe same hom to god vs sende,
To wone wiþ him wiþ-outen ende.

Amen.

Trentale sancti gregorij.

[_]

The following, reprinted from ms. Cotton Caligula A II, is an alternative version of the Pope Trental.

A nobull story wryte y fynde,
A pope hit wrote to haue yn mynde,
Of his modur & of her lyf
That holden was an holy wyfe,
Of myrthes sadde & mylde of mode,
Þat all men held her holy & gode;
Bothe deuowte & mylde of steuen,
Þat all men helde her wordy heuen.
So holy as she was holde of name,
All men were gladde of her fame.
But as holy as she holden was,
Þe deuell browȝth her yn a foule cas,
He trifeled her so with his trecherye
And ledde her yn lust of lecherye,
ffor with lust of lecherye he her begylde
Tyll she hadde conceyued a chylde.
And also priuely she hit bare
That þer-of was no man ware.
And for no mon shuld wyte of þat case,
Anone as þe chylde born was,
The chylde she slowȝ & wyryede
And pryuely she hit byryede.
Þer was she combred yn a carefull case,
And vnshryuen þer-of she was;
She ne tolde no preste her priuyte
ffor she wolde holy holden be.
Efte-sones she fell in þe same case
Ryȝth as beforn her be-tydde was.
ffor she was comen of hyȝ parage,
Of gentyll kynne & worþy lynage,
Þerfor she wolde not her synne shewe
Nor yn schryfte hit be-knowe,
And so her dedes wer not a-spyed.
But afturwarde sodenly she dyed.
When she was seyn so sodenly dye,
Men hoped she was yn heuen hye;
They helde her so holy & deuowte
Þat of her deth þey made no dowte,
But sykurly men wende y-wys
Þat she was worþy heuen blys.
Then aftur with-Inne a shorte tyme,
Vpon a day soone aftyr pryme,
The pope as he at his masse stode,
Vpon his modur he hadde þowȝt goode,
Prayng to god with conciens clere
The soþe to knowe as hit were.
And sodenly yn myddes his masse
Þer þrowȝ to hym such a derkenesse
Þat he lakkede ner þe dayes lyȝt,
ffor hit was derke as mydnyȝt;
In þat derkenes was myste among,
All a-stonyed he stode so hit stongke.
Be-syde he loked vnþur hys lere:
In þat derknes a þyng þrew hym nere,
A wonþurfull grysely creature,
Aftur a fend fyred with all her feture,
All ragged & rente, boþe elenge & euell,
As orrybull to be-holde as any deuell;
Mowthe, face, eres & yes
Brennede all full of brennyng lyes.
He was so agast of þat grysyly goste
That yn a swonyng he was almoste.
He halsed hit: “þorow goddes myȝte
That þe fende he putte to flyȝte,
And be þe vertu of hys blode
That for mankynde dyed on Rode,
Sey me sykerly þe soþe soone
What þou hast yn þis place to done;
What ys þy cause, þou cursed wreche,
Thus at masse me for to drecche?”
Þe gost answered with drury chere:
“I am þy modur þat þe beere,
Þat for vnschryuen dedes so derne
In byttyr paynes þus y brenne.”
Then sayde þe pope: “alas, alas!
Modur, þis ys to me a wondur case.
A, leef modur, how may þis be
In suche paynes þe for to se?
ffor all men wende y-wys
That þou hadde ben wordy heuen blys,
And full good þat þou were,
To praye for vs þat ben here.
Sey me, modyr, with-outen fayne,
Why art þou put to all þis payne?”
She sayde: “sone, sykerly,
I shall þe telle þe cause why:
ffor y was not such as y semed,
But myche worse þen men wened;
I lyuede in lustes wykkydly in my lyfe,
Of þe whyche y wolde me not shryfe;”
And tolde hym trewly all þe case
ffro þe bygynnyng how þat hit wase.
The pope lette teres a-down Renne,
And to his modyr he sayde þen:
“Tell me now, modur, for loue of mary flour,
If any þyng may þe help or sokour,
Bedes or masse, þy penaunce to bye,
Or ony fastyng, þy sorowe to aleye;
What crafte or caste or any oþur þyng
The may help or be þy Releuyng?”
“My blessed sone,” sayde she,
“ffull well y hope þat hit may be;
Syker & saf myȝth y be well
Who-so trewly wolde take a trentell
Of ten chef festes of þe ȝere,
To syng for me yn þis manere:
Thre masses of crystys natyuyte,
And of þe xij day oþur þre,
Thre of our ladyes puryfycacion,
And oþur þre of her Annunciacion,
Thre of crystes gloryous Resurreccion,
And oþur þre of his hyȝ Ascencion,
And of pentecoste oþur þre,
And þre of þe blessed trinite,
And of our ladyes Assumpcion oþur þre,
And of her Ioyfull natiuite þre;
These ben þe chefe festes ten
That sokour þe sowles þat ben fro heuen̄.
Who-so sayth þese masses, with-out fayle,
ffor syn̄full sowles þey shall a-vayle;
All a ȝere, with-outen trayne,
They delyuere a sowle out of payne.
Lette say þese masses be ȝour hestes
With-Inne þe vtas of þe festes!
And he þat shall þese masses do,
Sey he þer-with þis oryson also:
Deus qui es nostra Redempcio,
With all þe oþur þat longen þer-to.”
The pope was gladde her-of in fay,
And to his modur þen gon he say:
“Modyr,” he sayde, “þis shall be do,
ffor y am moste bounde þerto—
Thou were my modur, I was þy sone—
Thys same ȝere hit shall be done;
God graunte me grace to stonde in stede
Aȝeyns all þe synnus þat euur þou dede.
I commaunde hooly, my moder dere,
Þat þis tyme twelfmoneþ þou to me apere,
And hooly to me þy state þou telle,
That how þou fare y may wyte well.”
“My sone,” she sayde, “y woll yn fay,”
And with þat worde she wente her way.
Day by day þe ȝer gon passe,
The pope for-ȝate neuur his masse
The same dayes þat were a-syned,
To helpe his modur þat was pyned,
And toke þe orysons all-way þer-to
Ryȝth as she bad hym for to do.
xij moneþ aftur as he at masse stode
With gret deuocion & holynesse gode,
At þat same tyme full Ryght
He sawe a full swete syght:
A comely lady dressed & dyght,
That all þe worlde was not so bryȝt,
Comely crowned as a qwene,
Twenty Angellys her ladde be-twene.
He was so Raueshed of þat syght
That nyȝ for Ioye he swoned Ryght.
He fell down flatte by-fore her fete,
Þat deuowtly teres wepynge he lete,
And grette her with a mylde steuen
And sayde þere: “lady, qwene of heuen,
Modyr of Ihesu, mayde marye,
ffor my modyr mercy I crye.”
At þat worde with mylde chere
She hym answered on þis manere:
“Blessed sone, I am not she
Who wenest þou þat I be,
But certes as þou seest me here
I am þy modyr þat þe bere,
That her-by-fore, þou wyste well,
I was wordy payne yn hell,
And now y am such as þou seest her,
Þorow help of þe vertu of þy prayer,
ffro derknesse I dresse to blysse clere;
Þe tyme be blessed þat y þe bere!
And for þe kyndenesse of þy good dede
Heuen-blysse shall be þy mede.
And all þo þat leten þese masses be do,
Shall saue hem-self & oþur mo;
Þus may þey helpe her frendes all
That Reche-lesly yn synne falle.
Therfore, sone, þis story þou preche!
And almyȝty god y þe be-teche.”
At þe endyng of her wordes euen
An Angell her ber yn to heuen.
In to þat place god vs sende,
To dwelle with her with-outen ende.

Thys ys þe vertu, y þe telle,
Of seynt gregory trentelle.
But who so wyll do hit trewely,
He moste do more, sykurly:
Þe preste þat þe masse shall synge,
At eche feste þat he doþ hit mynge
He moste say with good deuocion)
Ouer Euen) þe commendacyon),
Placebo & dyryge also,
The sowle to brynge out of woo;
And also þe salmus seuene,
ffor to brynge þe sowle to heuen—
Among oþur prayeres þey ben good
To brynge sowles fro helle f[l]ode,
ffor euery psalme qwencheth a synne,
As ofte as a man þoth hem) mynne.
Loke with good deuocyon þou hem say!
And to all halewes þat þou pray,
To helpe þe with all her myȝte
The sowle to brynge to heuen bryght,
Ther euur ys day and neuur nyght—
Cryst graunt vs parte of þat lyght!
Loke þese ben sayde all in-fere
Euery day yn þe ȝere;
Neuer a day þat þou for-ȝete,
These to say þou ne lette!
Also in þe vtas of euery feste
Also longe as hit doth leste—
viijte dayus men) callen þe vtas—
Þe preste moste say in his masse—
A nobull orysoun) hit ys holde—
Þe colette þat fyrst y of tolde.
And aftur þe fyrste orysoun)
Þer ys an-oþur of gret Renoun)
Þat to þe sowle ys wonþur swete,
Menne calle hit þe secrete.
When þe preste hath don his masse,
Vsed, & his hondes wasche,
A-noþur oryson he moste say,
Þat yn þe boke fynde he may,
Þe “post comen” men don hit calle,
That helpeth sowles out of þralle.
And þat þis be don at eche a feste
As þe trentall speketh moste & leste;
Then may þou be sykur & certayne
To brynge þe sowle out of payne
To endeles Ioye þat lasteth aye,
Þat god dyed fore on good fryday.
To þat Ioye he vs brynge
Þat ys in heuen with-oute endynge!
Pray we all hit may so be,
And say Amen for charyte.

Explicit.

268

[XXXV. þe Spore of Loue.]

Her beginneþ þe Prikke of loue,
Þat profitable is to soule be-houe.
God þat art of miȝtes most,
ffader and Sone and holigost,
Þow graunte hem alle þi blessyng
Þat herken wel to þis talkyng.
ffor, lewed and lered, more and lesse,
Hit wol ow teche holynesse;
To loue God wiþ fyn chere
Hit wol ou teche, my leoue and dere.

269

ffor mony a tyme ȝe cone me preye
Þer-of a lesson ow to seye;
Ȝoure dulnesse sum what to scharpe
Ȝe han me preyed for to carpe.
ffor bisynes of wordli þing
To monye hit is a gret lettyng,
And eke ȝor owne frelete,
Þat makeþ ow ȝeore heui to be
Of or-self and ȝoure liuinge,
Þorw þe ffendes entysynge.
Þerfore þis bok to ow I make
Ȝoure discumfort for to slake,
Þat is cald “þe spore of loue,”
Þat stureþ or loue to god aboue.
Riht as þe spore makeþ hors to renne,
So schal þis bok sone god ou kenne,
Þat is souereyn holynesse.
Ȝe schul fynde heer-in swetnesse:
Loke ȝe take herto good hede!
ffor I schal telle ȝou, as I rede.
Þis may be ȝor halyday werk,
Hit wol a-vayle boþe lewed and clerk.

Of Meditacion of þi-self knowyng.

Takeþ good hede, of alle þinge
Þis tweyne to loue, good þei wil þe bringe:
Þe ffurste Is Meditacion,
Þe toþer is Contemplacion;
Þenk of þi-self þat is to say,
And on God, eueriche day.
Þou maiȝt not loue God riȝt wel
But ȝif þou knowe him furst sumdel,
Ne þi-self neuer þe more.
Þat God is best wite wel þerfore;
And wene not þi-self be best,
Al þi while þen hast þou lost.

Þi-self loke þat þou knowe,
ffor þat schal make þe Meke & lowe
And able to knowe þe grete bounte
Of God þat sitteþ in Maieste.

270

Bi-þenk þe þenne, whil þou hast quart,
In Bodi and Soule what þou art.
Þi bodi was gendred of foul matere,
Þat is wlatsum for to here.
Bi al þin Issuwes hit is wel sene
Þat þou art not wiþ-Inne ful clene.
Nyne Issuwes þou hast, I wene,
Ȝif þou loke hem al bi-deene:
Tweyne Eren þou hast, ben ful of wore,
Þyn Eȝen ben goundi whon þei ben sore,
Þi Neose-þurles ben ful of snit,
And þi Mouþ of glet and spit,
Þyn Issuwes þat aren in priuete
ffor schome þou letest no mon hem se.
Þerfore, seint Bernard as he vs telles:
Þou proude mon, þou art nouȝt elles
But of Muk bretful a sekke;
Mon, schuldest þou not so muche rekke
Of þi-self þen of anoþer,
ffor Rot is þi ffader, worm þi broþer,
ffor gendred he is riht of þe same
As þou. Proud mon, þou art to blame,
Þat þow berest þe so stoutli
And hast þow non enchesun whi!

Heddest þow be maad of stones riche,
Sonne or Mone or bodi heuenliche,
How nobliche þow heddest be wrouȝt!
As Lucifer þow miȝtest haue þouȝt.
Of his beute proud he was:
Þerfore him tidde a wel foul cas,
In heuene he durede but a while.
Riht so pruide wol þe be-gyle
And caste þe doun riht to grounde,
Þi soule in peyne hit schal be bounde.
Þi bodi, þat now is hol and sounde,
So foul rot hit schal be founde,
Hit schal not turne to gras nor flour,
But in to wlatsum and foul odour.
Þus maiȝt þou knowe þi bodily staate,
Þi fleschli lust forto abate.

271

Meditacion of þe Soule.

Of þi soule ȝit þenke þow
What staat hit is Inne now,
And what þou hast don her-bi-foren—
Or elles þou maiȝt sone be loren.
Þenk hou muche wikkednesse
Þou hast don, and [left] goodnesse,
How luitel good þow hast wrouȝt,
Þi tyme hast spendet aboute nouȝt;
Of werk and word þat is gon
And of þi tyme schal leue riht non
Þat þou ne schalt ȝelde ful streit acounte,
Þou nost hou muche hit wol amounte.

Ȝif þou weore bounde for to telle

exemplum

In þe séé þe smale grauelle,
Or sterres in þe ffirmament,
Þow heddest gret neode, verrement,
fforto a-vise þe wonder wel!
So most þou rikene eueridel
Werk, and word, and þouȝtes alle,
Þat ben wel mo þen grauel smalle;
And of þi tyme þat is past.
Þerof þou maiȝt ben sore agast
To þenke þus what þi soule haþ ben!
What hit is now, is good to sen.

So chaungeable is þi soule, my frende,
Þat nouȝt þe pleset adai to þe ende;
Now art þow sori, now art þow glad,
Now art in hope, now art adrad;
Ȝit wilnest þow þing þat neuer ne was.
Þou art more frele þen is þe glas:
Wiþ-oute touche hit lasteþ ay,
Þi soule is frelore atte assay:
Þorw siht wiþ-oute & þouȝt wiþ-Inne
Hit may be broken, wiþ dedly synne.
Þerto assentest þou lihtly,
And for to be fondet þou art redi,
And forte wiþ-stonde hastou no miȝt,
But þorw þe grace of god almiht,

272

Þat kepeþ þe vp whon þou schuldest falle.
ffrom mony mischeues he con þe calle:
Whon þou art loren he þe fyndes,
Of Bondus of synne he þe vnbyndes;
To þe deuel whon we were sold,
He Raunsound vs, boþe ȝonge & old;
Dedly synne whon þou hast don,
He vengeþ him not þer-on anon,
But Corteisliche he þe abydes;
Þi schome & synne ȝit he hydes.
He blames þe whon þou dost mys,
And euere he techeþ þe, I-wys,
In hungur & þurst he þe fedes,
Among þin enymys he þe ledes,
In hete and chele he þe refresches,
Slepyng, wakyng he þe redresses.
Heron þou þenke boþe Euen & morn!
And eke, hou mony men han be lorn,
Boþe be water and londe also,
Þat God ne haþ not tendet to
As to þe so bisyli.
And þerfore sei, “sire, graunt Merci,”
Whon þow be-þenkest þe day or niht
Hou god þe kepeþ wiþ-oute dispit
In Bodi or soule, erli or late.—
Þus maiȝt þou knowe þin owne astate.
To loue god bi alle resoun
ffor þis fordede þou hast enchesoun.
Þis þouȝt is Meditacion.
Now forþ to Contemplacion.

Of Contemplacion in creature.

Contemplacion is to seye:
Siht of god and his nobleye.
Þat maiȝt þou se be þin Inwit
In creature, and in holy writ,
And siþen in his owne kynde.
Of þeose ȝif we wol haue good mynde,
Þe nobleye of god [we se] in his werkes,
As men mowe seo, Lewed & Clerkes.

273

Þou þat neuere seȝe Duyk Henri,
Þat þe newe werk of Leycetre reised on hiȝ:
Þer-bi maiȝt þou wel wyte and se
Þat he was lord of gret pouste
Þat hit made of his owne cost—
I hope he naue þeron not lost.
Þe makyng of vche a creature
Such is godes miȝt wiþ-oute Mesure.
And bi þe ordre of vch a kynde
His wit we sen but we be blynde;
And bi þe creatures meyntenyng
Of his godnes we han witeryng.
So long and Brod as is þis world,
Heiȝ and dep, scheweþ him a lord
Of Miht and pouwer gret saunȝfaile,
Al made of nouȝt wiþ-oute trauayle.
Eyr & ffuir on heiȝ ben founde,
Water and Erþe heuy at grounde:
Of his wisdam hit scheweþ a part,
And so to Ioyne hem a ful gret art.
Hedde fuir and water to-geder ben set,
Not wysli don men wolden han let,
Þat On þat oþer wolde distruye;
Hedde Eir be Ioyned to eorþe so druye,
Hit wolde for chyne, for to seye soþ,
No fruit wolde bere as hit now doþ.
Water and Erþe are meynt to-gidere,
ffor grene þing schulde not al to-whidere.
Gret wit and wisdam, as I ow tolde
In God ȝit ȝe may be-holde:

How summe creaturs al-on
Han beoynge of him, as stok and ston;
And summe, as treo and gras and flour,
Han lyf, but Ioye non ne no dolour;
Summe ben & liuen & fleon lykyng,
As Beest and ffoul and ffisch fletyng;
Ouer alle þeose Mon bereþ þe pris,
ffor he haþ reson to make him wys—
Þat makeþ hym peringal lo here
To Angeles of heuene, to ben heor feere.

274

So muche may ȝit be monnes grace
Þat he mai passen an Angeles place.
Seynt Austyn, þe grete clerk, seiþ riȝt so:
An Angeles place he wolde for-go
ffor to haue þe worþi stede
Þat God haþ ordeynd for Monhede.
Herof I rede þou take good keepe!
Elles þou art worþi gret schendschip,
But þou lyue aftur þi degre,
Seþþe þou hast such a dignite
Alle þing to beo þin vnderloute,
A-boue, bi-neþe, and al aboute.
ffor al þing in eorþe, mon, in sum wyse
Was maad of god for þi seruyse:
Hors & Neet and eke Chamayle,
Þe to ese in þi trauayle;
Lyn, fforre, fflax, Selk and Wolle,
Þat diuersliche God ȝeueþ at folle,
Þe to kepe from chele and hete;
Beest, fisch & foul, & fruit, to þi mete.
Þe þinkeþ par aunter hit is not so,
ffor venymous bestes þei don vs wo.
Þe harmful creatures, verrement,
Weore maad til vre amendement,
Þei ben to vs a Chastisyng,
And eke a wel feir techyng.
Whil þou hast in þin hond a ȝerd,

exemplum

Þe Child þer-of is sore aferd,
Of his vntiȝt ful sone slakes
And to his lore good keep he takes;
Hit makeþ þe child boþe meke & lowe,
A-Mendeþ him wel him-self to knowe.
Þe venymous beestes wel muche we dreden:
Þe beter þerfore vre lyf we leden.
ffor summe to vs þei beo nuyouse,
Godes werk we knowe ful meruilouse—
Of Godes wisdam a wonder cast!
But of his goodnes be-hold atte last,
How Creatures þat ben Iure,
Þe Sky, Heuen, Sterres and heore nature

275

God haþ maad forte mowe endure
Euermore wiþ-outen eny gendrure;
But þulke on eorþe eueri day þei rote,
As on is ded, anoþur is gote—
Such vertu in kuynde God con faste,
Þat longe I-nowh so mihte þei laste,
Ȝif his wille were for euere and ay;
So multiplye þei euer vche a day,
Þat summe ben olde & summe be newe,
Þorw þe godnesse of his vertue.—
Þus mowe ȝe knowe boþe more & lesse
Godes Miȝt, his wit, and his goodnesse
In creatures, as I haue told,
How gret, how good, how monifold.
Seþþe he haþ maad for vs al þis,
But we him loue we don amis.
Ȝif þow loue ȝiftes in þin entent,
Loue him wel raþer þat hit þe sent,
Þat is god al þing aboue.
Þerfore me þinkeþ we schulde him loue;
And for him-self ȝit wel more,
Whon we be-þenken vs of þis lore.
Þis þe furste Contemplacioun
In Creatures of gret Renoun.—

Þe secunde contemplacion In holy writ.

Þe secunde contemplacion is hit
Þat I seide, in holi writ.
Þei þow be lewed and con not rede,
Noþeles ful wel ȝit may þou spede
To herkene þe ffrere Sarmounyng
And oþer priue Carpyng,
And loke ȝif þou mowe ouȝt þer lere
Þin vnderstondyng to make more clere.
Þer maiȝt þow lerne, as I trowe,
Good from vuel for to knowe,
Sinne to hate, vertu to loue,
And to ȝerne þe Ioye aboue,
Þe pyne of helle for to drede,
Nouȝt loue þis world but for þi nede;

276

Alle þinges þat we of prechen,
Summe of þeos poyntes forsoþe þei techen.
Þerfore I prey ȝou, takeþ good hede
After holi writ ȝoure lyf to lede,
Godes wille so to knowe þer-Inne
Þat ȝe mowe hate dedly sinne.
And þat ȝe mowe knowe wȝuch hit bene,
I schal hem riken alle bedene,
And þe spices þat of hem launches.

Pride þe furste, haþ six Braunches:
Þe furste is cald vnbuxomnes:
Of herte hit is a gret hiȝnes,
Makeþ mon to leeten þat him is boden
And to don þat is forboden
Of God or Mon, his ouerlyng.
Þe secounde spice is Bostyng,
Þat makeþ mon forto him auaunte
Of good þat he wolde neuere haunte.
Þe þridde spice is Ypocrisye—
Schewest þe beter to Monnes eiȝe
Þen þou art þi-self wiþ-Inne,
And leetest as þou heddest neuer do synne.
Þe feorþe is clept Arrogaunce,
Þat schewes oþur mennes mischaunce
And openeþ al out heore wikkednes,
So þat þyn may seme þe les;
Of oþer mennes schendschipe
To þe þow takest worschipe.
Þe ffyfþe spice, hit is dispyt,
Oþer menne goodnes setteþ luit,
Þow seist hit is not worþ a Bore,
So þat þin may seme þe more.
Þe Sixte is cald Elacion,
Boldnesse of vuel þat þou hast don;
Þat makeþ mon for to fonde
Correxion hou he may wiþ-stonde.
Þeos ben þe spices most comuyn of pride,
Þat spreden in þis world ful wyde.

Pruide in heuene furst bi-gon,
And seþþen in eorþe to mony a Mon.

277

Of þeos þreo þinges as I schal telle,
Of Pruide moni on haþ þe smelle:
Of godes of kuynde, or of grace,
Or elles of worldes purchace.
Strengþe, feirnesse, good wit, or kynne
Bi kynde þis mon haþ him wiþ-Inne;
ffeiþ, Hope, Loue and Charite
Goodes of grace þei ben, parde;
ffeir Cloþes, Lond, Hous and Rent
Worldes purchase ben, verrement.
Of þeos þreo þinges pruide is born,
Þat makeþ mony a mon to be forlorn.

Þe secunde synne, hit is Envy:
Of oþur mennes wele hit is sori,
And of heor harm hit is fayn.
Þreo spices hit haþ, as men sayn:
In herte hit is furst, þorw vuel wille;
In word: þi neiȝebor Bakbyte and spille;
In werk, hit makeþ lered and lewed
To his neiȝebor forte beo schrewed.

Wraþþe to þi soule Is mischaunce—
Of þi neiȝebor hit wilneþ veniaunce;
Ȝif þou in herte bere hit longe,
Hattreden hit engendreþ swiþe stronge.
Herof comeþ cheste and Manasyng,
Vileynous wordes, and eke grucching,
Discord, Repref, deynous lokyng—
Þeos ben alle a foul ofspring.

Þe ffeorþe is slouþe in godes seruise.
Þe Braunches þerof I wol deuyse:
Þe furste is feyntise wiþ-oute likyng,
Þat makeþ þe heui wiþ alle þing;
Þat toþer is a tendernesse,
Þat suffreþ no disese nor duresse;
Recheleschipe is þe þridde—
Þou takest no kep what men þe bidde;
Þe feorþe is called Idelnesse,
Whon þou ne wolt worche, more ne lesse.

Þe ffyfþe is cald Auarice,
Þat haþ mony a sori spice:

278

Þerof comeþ treson, and Robberie,
fforsweryng, Oker, and Symonye,
Þefþe, Beryng of fals witnesse,
Lyȝing, and of herte hardnesse,
Þat makeþ þe no reuþe to haue
Of hem þat þe good craue.

Glotonye is þe Sixte synne,
Þat fouleþ mon wiþ-oute and wiþ-Inne.
Þe furste spice is of glotenye
To ete more þen þou mayȝt defye,
Whon þou art in hele nomeli;
Anoþer is to ete to lustili.
Glotonye makeþ mon in hast
To breke holychirche fast.
Þe þridde makeþ bisili to þenche
What maner of mete his lust may quenche.
Þe feorþe, þat makeþ mon as ded,
Þat is foul drounkenhed—
Þat is dedly, bi enchesoun
Þat hit bi-reueþ mon his resoun;
But ȝif hit come wiþ-oute fayle
Of feble brayn or gret trauayle,
Or þe drinke be strengor þen men wenen,
ffor venial synne we hit demen.

Lecherie is on of þe seuene,
Þat greueþ muche vr lord of heuene.
In to þis synne whon tweyne falle
Þat ben sengle, is lest of alle;
But ȝif þe wommon a Mayde be,
Worse is þat, þe secounde degre;
Þe þridde is clept Holorie,
Þat wedlak brekeþ, is synne ful hye;
Incest þe ferþe, whon þou lyst bi
Þi gostly kyn or bodili;
Þe worste of alle is Sodomye,
Vn-kyndely synne, foul Ribaudye—
Þerfore haþ God taken gret wreche.
Of dedly synne her endeþ my speche.

279

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

But of heore remedies nou wol I telle
Þat crist seiþ in þe holi gospelle.
Þo ben þe benisouns seuene;
Aȝeyn þeose synnes þei ben ful euene.
“Þe Meke of spirit þei ben blest,
ffor heoren is þe Ioye þat euer schal last:”
Þis Blessyng aȝeyn pride is riht,
Þat be-reueþ mon God almiȝt.
“Þe Mylde beþ blessed þat loueþ no strif,
ffor þei schul haue þe lond of lyf”:
Aȝeynes Envye þat was sayd,
Of oþur mennes hauyng þat neuer was payd,
But of Mischef of his neiȝebore
He is glad, and of his lore.
“Blessed ben þo þat Mournen I-wis
ffor heore frendes þat þei mys;
Þei schul ben cumforted wonder wel”:
Aȝeynes wraþþe hit is sumdel,
Þat discumforteþ mon him-selue
And þo abouten him, ten or twelue.
“Þe Merciful ben blessed, for-þi
God of hem schal haue merci”:
Þat is aȝeyn Couetyse,
Þat to þe nedful wol not diuyse.
“Þat hungren and þursten riȝtwysnesse,
Þei [schul] ben fulled more and lesse”:
Aȝeyn þe Slowe þat nouȝt wol wirke;
Of alle gode dedes him þinkes irke.
“I-blessed ben alle of herte clene,
ffor godes owne face þei schul sene”:
Herof þe gloten may aske riȝt nouȝt,
ffor of his foule wombe is al his þouȝt.
“Þat louen pes þei blessed ben alle,
ffor Godes children men schul hem calle”:
Þe Lechour in herte he haþ no rest;
Of þis þerfore his part is lest.

280

Aȝeyn þi woundes now hastou salue,
Þe blessynges ȝiuen of godes bi-halue.
Ȝit ben þei spedful to lest [&] most,
Seuen ȝiftes of þe holigost.

Of þe Seuen ȝiftes of þe holigost.

Whon þou art hol sound, þe to lede
Tak heer furst þe spirit of drede,
Þat makeþ mon furst from vuel to wynne;
Þe spirit of pite, wel forto bigynne
Gode werkes; þat han a wel gret fo
Of worldes wele and eke of wo:

Þe spirit [of] cunnyng techeþ vs dispise
Þe worldes wele [ȝif we ben wyse];

Þe spirit of strengþe, to suffre þe wo.
Þeose foure to bisy lyf longen into,
Þat we callen Actyf lyf.
Þe oþer þreo rulen Contemplatyf.
In Creatures to knowen God verrement,
Þe spirit vs techeþ of entendement;
Þe spirit of counseil, what is to do
In writ, what is to leue also;
To knowe god In his owne kynde,
Þe spirit of wysdam vs bringeþ to mynde.

Of þe Seuene vertues.

After þis ȝit is good to knowe
Þe seuen vertues alle be rowe,
ffor aftur þis lyf þei wol þe bringe
To blisse þat neuer schal haue endynge.
ffeiþ, Hope, and Charite,
Diuine vertues þei ben alle þre;
Strengþe, Mesure, Riht, qweyntise
Of kuyndelich vertues þei beren þe prise.
A bodilich Iurneye hose schulde go,
Þreo þinges him were nedful þerto:
ffurst, þat he wuste whoder he schulde;
And wille, his Iurney to be forþ-fulde;
Þe þridde, Hope for to spede—
Elles þer-of nolde he take hede.

281

ffeiþ of God ȝiueþ vs witerynge
Of vr Iurney þat is endynge;
Hope vs ȝiueþ strengþe and miht
To come to him as heo han tiht;
But wille þen ȝiueþ vs Charite—
How miȝte we þenne for-go þeose þre?
Ne þe foure oþure neuer þe more.
Her þou now þe skile þerfore!
Þer may no mon God wel qweme
But he cunne good from vuel deme,
Þe gode to hente, þe vuel forsake,
Of twei godes þe better to take.
Þat hit is good, vche mon troweþ,
ffor to ȝelde alle þing þat him oweþ,
And for to wiþ-holde more or lesse
Is vuel: þat techeþ vs Rihtwysnesse.
Of twey goodes þe beter to hente,
Qweyntise vs techeþ, verremente.
Good þing men mihte mis-vse, I-wis:
Þerfore Mesure neodful is.
Vuel mihte mon to muche doun bringe:
Strengþe þerfore is nedful þinge,
To make mon hard to suffre wo.
To ten Comaundemens now wol I go.

Of þe ten Comaundemens.

Þeose biddinges wol I not ouer-hippe.
On God þou schalt worschippe.
His nome þou ne schalt in Idel munginge (!).
Halewe þin halyday, þe þridde biddinge.
Þeose rulen þi lyf, alle þre,
To þe holi Trinite.
A-ȝeyn þe furste biddyng þou mischeuest,
On eny wicchecraft ȝif þou bileeuest.
Aȝeyn þe secunde þi-self þou derest,
Horible oþes whon þou swerest—
Ȝit maiȝt þou swere wiþ-outen synne
ffalsede to dampne, þe riȝte to wynne.
Aȝeyn þe þridde þou dost wronge
Whon þou lyst in þi bed so longe

282

Þat Matyns nor Masse herest þou non,
To ffreres prechinge wolt þou not gon—
Þer-Inne of swetnesse þou felest no tast;
Bote to þe tauerne þe þinkeþ more hast
Þen to visyte þe seke or þe pore,
Þat liggen a-tome or at þi dore;
Ȝif þou dost þus, soþ to say,
Þou halewest not wel þyn halyday.
Godes curtesye her maiȝt þow se:
To him-self he ȝaf biddynges but þre;
Þe seuen þat comen herafter nou
To þe and to þi neiȝebores prou.
ffader and Moder þow most honoure:
Wiþ foul cher not on hem to loure;
Ȝif heo of þyne habbeþ gret nede,
But þou hem helpe, vuel schalt þou spede.
Loke þat þou sle no mon,
Wiþ hond ne wiþ wepene non,
Ne þorw þyn owne gilerye
Nouȝwhere to puite him for to dye;
Sle no mon wiþ tonge, biddynge,
Beo tisement ne bi procurynge;
In herte Coueyte no mon to spille—
To borwe him raþure is godes wille,
Ȝif þou hit may do lawefully,
Elles of þis biddynge þow art gulti.
Stele non oþure monnes good.
ffrom fals witnes þow torn þi mood.
Þi neiȝebores good þow schalt not desyre,
Wyf nor Mayde-child for heor white swire.
Loke þou do no Lecherie,
Þi-self for þat wol most anuye.
But i prei þe, þou seist, telle me þe skile
Whi god forbed raþur vuel wille
Of worldes good, and of Monnes wyf,
Þen to bi-reue a Monnes lyf.
ffor, hose is in wille for to stele,
Wiþ oþer monnes wyf or wiþ to dele,
Hit is hardore him-self þer-from to holde
Þen from monslauȝt, be þou bolde!

283

ffor þerof kyndeliche vche monnes sone
Haþ gret Abhomynacione;
But wraþþe haþ him his resun raft,
Wiþ him þerof horrour is laft,
After þe dede or elles be-foren—
Elles mony mon schulde be for-loren.

Of twelue articles of vre be-leue.

But no mon may, þe Bok hit seiþ,
Plese God wiþ-outen feiþ.
Þerfore mo þinges is good to meue:
Þe twelue articles of vre bi-leue.
Of alle þe twelue þis is þe most:
Þat ffader & Sone and Holi gost
On God Almihti in Trinite
Euer was, and is, and euer schal be;
Heuene and eorþe he haþ wrouȝt,
And al þis world he maade of nouȝt.
Þe ffader sende his sone Ihesu
Þorw þe holygost vertu,
God and Mon of Mayde Marie
To be boren, and for vs to dye,
And buried was, þorw his good wille,
To sauen vs alle þat we ne schulde spille.
To helle he wente whon he was ded,
Þe soule Ioyned to his godhed;
ffrom helle he hem fette swiþe blyue
Þat him hedde serued in heore lyue.
Vp he ros þe þridde day,
As he was God and Mon verray;
Riht so schul we, as seiþ seint poule,
Rysen vp in bodi and in soule
At þe grete day of doom—
Þerof I rede we take good goom!
Þen schal he demen al apert
Vche mon after his decert.
God and Mon to heuene he went;
Þe holigost to þe Apostles sent.
Þorw him so mowe we heuene wynne,
Ȝif we dyen out of dedly synne.

284

Of þe seuene Sacramens.

Off þe seuene sacramens ȝit mote we trowe,
Þat I schal rikene al be Rowe.
Þe ffurste, hit is cristendom,
Þat cryst receyued in þe fflom;
Hit makeþ vs clene of þat synne
Þat we be boren vchone Inne,
And openeþ to vs heuene-ȝate,
Elles may no mon come in þer-ate.
But þorw gret temptacion
Þat grace miȝte be struied soon:
Þerfore is Confirmacion—
Þat non may but Bisschop don;
Þe holigost hit stableþ riȝt
In þe, aȝeyn þe fend to fiht.
But after þeose we sungen al day:
Þerfore penaunce hit doþ a-way
Dedly synne and venial,
Þat is to seye gret synne and smal;
Þreo parties hit haþ verrey penaunce,
Þerof þe synful mai ha fyaunce:
ffor-þinke þe synne wilfulliche,
And schriue þe þenne verreiliche,
And make a-mendes to þi miht—
Of al þi synnes þen art þow quiht.
But leste in penaunce mon schulde fayle,
Him neodeþ cumfort in þat trauayle:
Hosul þerfore, in Bredes heuȝ
Godes bodi, we tan, of gret vertu;
Vre gostli strengþe hit holdeþ Inne,
Þat we ne falle liȝtli aȝeyn to synne.
But in a wel-ruled halle,
Þat ben þer-Inne þei serue not alle,
Out of array for þenne hit were—
In holichirche þe same manere:
Ordre of presthod is maad þerfore,
Vs to serue lasse and more
Of Sacramens and vre rihtynges—
Presthod haþ power of alle þeos þynges;

285

Gret worschip owen we alle þer-to:
Prest sacres þat bodi, þat aungel ne may do.
But god schop mon forte restore
Þe noumbre of angeles þat is forlore,
Þorw kyndelich generacioun,
And þerto he ȝaf his benisoun
Þat Monkynde mihte multiplie,
Wiþ-oute synne of Lecherye
Mon and wommon to-gedere Ioyne;
Þerfore he ordeynde Matrimoyne,
Þat dedli synne hit doþ a-wei—
But þe venial wol I not sey.
But of þis world whon we schul wende,
Gret peyne we han þenne at vr ende:
Þerfore is holi Oynement,
Þat vs aleggeþ, verreyment,
Of peyne we han þenne bodily,
And of þat we dreden gostly;
Such vertu God herto con lene
To folfille þe penaunce þat naþ mad clene.

Of þe seuene dedes of Merci.

Bute at þe dredful domes-day
Mon schal haue an hard a-say,
ffor he schal þenne a-posed be
Of þe dedes of Charite.
Þerfore is good now to witen
Wȝuche hit ben, as hit is writen.
Þe ffurste is, fede þe hungri.
Ȝeue drinke to þe þursti.
Þe þridde, þe naked for to cloþe.
To herborwe þe pore be þou not loþe.
Visyte hem þat ben in prisoun bounde.
Cunforte þat seknesse haþ cast to grounde.
Of þeose sixe þe gospel spekeþ.
Þe seueþe Tobye vs he þat techeþ:
To burie þe dede Is Charite—
In Bodi and soule quit schal hit be.

286

Of þe seuene druweries of Monnus bodi.

Þi Bodi schal haue druweries seuene,
As Monye þi soule, boþe to in heuene,
Of þe [whuch] schal rise þi grete blis—
Þer-bi maiȝt wyte what heuene is.
Þi bodi schal schyne so wondur feire,
No foulnesse schal hit a-peyre;
Seuenfold briȝtore þen is þe sonne
Vche bodi schal be þat haþ hit wonne.
Ȝit was þer neuere foul of fliȝt
As þi bodi so swift and liȝt,
ffor in a twynclyng of an eiȝe
ffrom erþe to heuene þou maiȝt styȝe.
In bodi þou schalt ȝit be so strong
Þat al þe erþe, wyd, dep, and long,
Þou schalt mowe posse hit as a bal;
As þou wolt welde hit, þou schal.
Þou schalt ben fre, þat nou art bonde,
Þat no þing schal a-ȝein þe stonde
To lette þe to passe whoder þou schal,
Erþe ne water ne stonene wal;
As oyle synkeþ þorw hol vessel,
So schal þi bodi perse al þing wel.
Vre bodies þat here ben seke and sore,
Þei schul haue hele for euer-more;
We schul beo so wel atese
Þat hunger ne ferst nor no dissese
Nouþer wiþ-Inne ne wiþ-oute,
Hurt nor langour we schul not doute.
Þerto gret lykynge in þat lyue
We schul han in vr wittes fyue,
Vche a wit wiþ-outen anguisch
Schal haue his lykyng wiþ a wusch:
ffeir siht lyking to þin eiȝe;
Þyn Eres ful of melodye;
Tast, and Smel, and þy felyng,
Þei schul be ful of gret lykyng;
And al þis Ioye schalt haue to-gider—
Vr lord of heuene bring vs þider!

287

In þis lyf whon we best fare,
Whon we be-þenk vs, we mai ha care
Þat mischef of deþ schal vs be-tyde;
Þerfore vr blisse may not a-byde:
But in heuene wiþ-oute stryf
Bodi and soule schal euere ha lyf;
Þerof þou maiȝt þe wel affye,
ffor bodi and soule þei schal neuur dye.

Of þe doweres of þe soule.

Þi soule schal haue þis warisun:
Of wit and wisdam so gret foysun
Þat creatures alle, hiȝe & lowe,
In heuene & eorþe, þou schalt knowe;
Gret Ioye schal þat be, sikerliche!
ffor mon disyreþ kuyndeliche
To knowe þing þat is vnkud;
ffrom þi knowyng nouȝt schal ben hud.
ffrendschipe wiþ-outen enemyte,
Þat schal ben a-noþer fe;
Such frendschipe in heuene among hem is
Þat vs is fayn of oþeres blis.
A-cord and pes wiþ-outen stryf,
fforsoþe, hit schal be þere so ryf:
Þe bodi and soule, þat striuen here,
Vche to oþer schal be so dere
Þat þe bodi schal noþing wille
But þat [þe] soule wol al be skille;
Þyn eȝen ben of so good assent,
Þat on lokes nowher verreyment
But ȝif þat oþer loke þer-wiþ;
Þer schul ben alle in so good kiþ
Þat Bodi and soule vche wiþ oþer
Schul to-geder no þing soþer.
Worschipe wiþ-outen vileny
Þer schul we haue, sikerly;
As kynges in trone sitte we schal,
Crouned wiþ Angeles peryngal.
Þe soule, þat her haþ luitel maystrie
Or þauȝ þe bodi be in gret anuye,

288

So gret miht þer schal hit haue
Þat nouȝt aȝeynes hit schal quich nor quaue.
But trust nis non in worldes wele,
Nou art þou sek, nou art in hele,
Nou artou pore, now artou riche—
Þe blisse of heuene nis þat not liche:
ffor þe meste part of þy Blis
Schal be sikernesse of al þis.
Þe seueþe blisse: þi soule in heuene
Schal þonke God wiþ hiȝe steuene,
As Angeles don wiþ gret likynge,
“Holi, Holi, Holi” is heore syngynge.

Of þe peynes of helle, & amonesting.

Hit is no neod now for to telle
More of þe peynes þat ben in helle.
In bodi & soule þei han gret nuye,
Of al þis Ioye þe contrarye.—
Ȝif þou be-þenke þe, my dere frend, wel
Of al þis Ioye eueriche a del
Þat god haþ ordeyned for þi solace
Whon þou schalt sen him in his face,
Þou hast gret Matere, sikerliche,
Him to loue souereynliche
Þat such knowynge and such wit
Ȝiueþ vs of him in holy writ.
Nou hast þou matere of holy speche
Vnwysore þen þou for to teche;
And whon þou spekest wiþ eny mon
Þat more good con lere þen þou con,
Sum of þeos Materes þou maiȝt enqwere,
Wel more good for to lere.—

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

Tac hede nou & þou schalt se
Of Contemplacion þe þridde degre,
Of God hym-self wiþ-outen doute,
Of Godhed wiþ-Inne, monhed wiþ-oute.
Þre þinges þou þenke, as I þe rede,
Of crist vr lord in his monhede:

289

Of þe Incarnacion þe grete Mekenes,
And of his liuyng þe holynes,
And of his passion þe charite.
At ones þou maiȝt not þenke þise þre;
I schal departe hem, as I may,
Be þe houres of niht and day;
Wiþ double Contemplacione
In vche an houre of god þou mone:
Ones of his passioun,
And eft of oþer sesoun.

Contemplacion at Matines tyme.

At Mateynes þenk, aftur or bi-foren,
Wȝat time & vre, place crist was boren.
Þe tyme was wynter, ȝif þou be-holde,
Þe vre was midniȝt, wonder colde,
Þe place, as doctours seyen and trowes,
Was a toren hous wiþ-outen wowes.
In Riche cloþus was he not wrapped,
In Cracche wiþ ragges he was happed,
Bi-twene an Oxe and an As—
Gret Meknes þer I-schewed was!

Be-þenk þe of þat cumpaignye
Of Iosep and of swete Marie,
Hou bisy þei weren to kepe þat fode
Þat for us schulde dyen on Roode;

Of þe herdes deuocion,
And of þe Angeles þat songen abouen
“Ioye be to god þat is on hiȝ”—
In herte so syng þou priuely.

Þenk how Iudas also outrayde
At midniȝt, whon he crist be-trayde;
Hou þe Iewes þei him be-caste,
And as a þeef þei bounden him faste,
And as a feloun þei forþ him lad.
Whon þe traitour a Cos him bad,
In speche he was so Meke & hende:
His traytur he calde his dere frende.
In dede also he schewed non awe,
fforbed al hise wepne to drawe,

290

And Malcus ere, þat Peter of smot,
Heled hit aȝeyn, not chid nor flot.
Biforen Anna i-lad and Cayphas
Vileynesliche þer I-boffeted was,
And petur þryes wiþ-Inne a þrowe
ffor-sok him, ar cok hedde þries crowe.
And alle þe Apostles euerichon
A-wey þei fledde, wiþ him lafte non.

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

Off þe passion þenk at prime,
Of cristes vprist þe same tyme.
Crist in to a ȝard at prime him ladde
And fals witnesse aȝeyn him hadde,
Þat seiden hou he hedde god dispised,
Þe cuntre al tornd and dyuised
ffrom Ierusalem to Galyléé.

And in his face þen spitten heo,
Þei hudden his face & bobed his hede
And scorned him and bad hym rede
Ho him smot þo wiþ his fuste.
Nout he ne seide, þouȝ he wel wuste.

Of þe Resurexion.

Þenk also at prime, whon crist vp ros—
Þerof wydewhere sprong þe loos—
Vyue siþes apeered he þat day
To his derlynges, soþ to say:
ffurst to Maudeleyn, þat was him dere,
Whon heo þhoute him a gardynere.
To hire and oþure, verrement,
As þei comen from his Monument;
And seide “al heil! God saue ȝow.”
And siþen to Peter—but we nute how.
Þe ffeorþe tyme as a straunge pilgrim
To twey disciples, þat knew not him,
Toward Emaus, þe goode Castel;
In bred brekyng þen kneuȝ þei him wel.

291

Þe ffyfþe tyme to þe apostles ten,
But Thomas was not wiþ hem þen;
But þat hit was he þei nouȝt bileeued,
ffor a gost to hem he furst bi-semed,
Til he schewede boþe foot and honde
Amiddes hem þer he con stonde,
“Pees to ȝow” he seide þon—
Þei kneuȝ him wel whon he was gon.

Biforen vndurne: Of þe passion, and of Witsuntyd.

Þenk how crist at vndurne-tyde
Was dispoyled, boþe bak and syde,
And to a piler þenne was he bounde
And skourged so sore wiþ mony a wonde
Þat from þe foot to þe heued
Hol skin was on [him] luitel be-leued.
Wiþ Mantel of Red þei him cladde,
Bi-foren þe folk þei forþ him ladde,
ffor Septre a reod token him in honde,
Crouned him wiþ þorn, I vndurstonde,
And þenne þei kneled him be-forn
And called him kyng al in scorn.
Vp-on Pilate þen gunne þei crye
Ihesu on Rode to Crucifye.
He bar his Cros wiþ gret anuye
To þe place þer he schulde dye.

Bifore vndurne of þe holigost.

Þenk also at þis same vre
Þe holigost wiþ gret honoure
Crist his apostles sende amonge,
So wonderliche to speke wiþ tonge
Þat folk þat weoren of oþur langage
Heo[m] vnderstoden, & seiden outrage
Þat of wyn dronken þey were.
Þe holygost also schewed him ful clere
In fuir, to make hem hard and bolde,
ffor þei schulde not in mischef folde.

292

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

At Middai be-þenk þe witerli
Hou Gabriel grette vr swete ladi,
Þenne conceiued heo crist Ihesu
Þorw þe holigost vertu.
But whi wolde he take flesch & blode
And siþen dye for vs on Rode,
Siþen he miȝte ha saued Monkynde
Bi an Angel, as I fynde?
But þen schulde we ha loued be riȝt
Þe Angel more þen god Almiȝt;
He wolde we loued him be-foren al oþur:
Þerfore him-self bi-com vr broþur.

Also of þe passion.

Þenk hou crist was don on Rode—
His bodi þen ron al on blode;
Bi-twene twey þeues he hynged;
Galle & Eysel to him þei menged
To drinke, for þurst whon he him pleined.
ffor vre gult so was he peyned.
In al þis world þow peynes alle
Vpon o Mon miȝte falle
And he miȝte suffre as muche more
As alle men þat nou ben bore,
Þe same deþ twye or þrie
Þat crist suffrede þouȝ he miȝt dye,
Þat peyne ȝit were not so liche
Nouþur neiȝ so as his so miche.
Hit semeþ wel þenne bi þat i telle
His peyne passeþ þe pyne of helle
Þat pure creature miȝte þole, i-wis,
ffor euere so may neuer on his.

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

Be-þenk þe at þe vre of noon:
Whon crist hed seid þat al was don,
Mildeliche wiþ-outen bost
To his ffader he ȝeld his gost,

293

And to him he made a cri
Hely lamaȝabatani,
Þat is to seye aftur þe Book
“ffader, whiere þou me forsok?”
As hos seiþ, þus here for to spille;
A, lord, for hit was þi wille.
A blynd kniht þen atte laste
A Spere þorw [his] herte þraste,
Þat Blod and water þen out ȝede.
Þerof we schulde take good hede:
Þe blynde kniȝt þerof cauȝte his siht,
And vre Bapteme þere hedde miȝt.
Lord, ȝif me grace day and niht
To þenke how deolfulliche þou were diht!
Þe sonne for deol þen lees his liht,
ffor to be wreken of his dispiht;
Hulles and dales þei al to-schoken,
And þe stones al to-broken.

At Non of þe Assencion.

Þenk also at þe vre of non
Of Ihesu Assencion
On þe Mount of Olyuete,
Whon al þe Apostles þer gunne mete,
And his deore Moder Marie,
In al heore siht vp gon he styȝe,
And sitteþ on his ffader riht hond,
Þat weldeþ boþe Séé and Lond.
Þe Apostles bi þe wey þat was geyn
To Ierusalem þei torned a-ȝeyn,
In preyer & fastynge þer for to abyde,
As he hem bad, til witsontyde.

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

At Euensong-tyme þenk verreyli:
ffor ded was founden his swete bodi,
Ioseph þenne of Aramathi
Tok him doun deuoutli,
Of Pilat, þat þenne was heiȝ Iustise,
He asked no more for his seruyse.

294

Þi pouwer, lord, whon þow were ded,
Hit was hud in þy godhed;
As gras is stomped for medicyne,
So were þou fruscht wiþ muche pyne;
Allas for deol, boþe euen and Morn,
Þe Croune of blisse lai vnder a þorn!

Now of þe Maunde of Ihesu crist.

At euensong-tyme of his Maunde
Þenk; wiþ hou gret Charite
He wuȝsch his owne apostles feete,
And of his Bodi alle þei ete
As he heom ȝaf in bredes heuȝ,
And to Iudas, þat waried Ieuȝ,
Þauȝ he him wuste in synne derne,
His flesch & blood ȝit nolde he him werne.
Ensaumple herof þe prest may haue
Non hosul to werne hose wol hit craue,
In priue synne þouȝ he him knowe—
To warne hym stilly is best, I trowe.

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

At Cumplin þenk wiþ good entent
Hou crist in to a gardyn went
After þe Maunde, forto prey
His ffader þat passion to don a-wey;
Þe Monhede of hym so sore dredde þat
Þat blod & water þer so he swat
Þat hit dropped doun in þat place
In to þe eorþe from his face.

Of þe buryinge of Ihesu crist.

Þenk at Cumplyn: þe bodi of crist
Was leid in graue til his vpryst,
Þat Ioseph diȝte for him-self hadde;
And in Sendel he him cladde,
Wiþ Mirre and Aloyne, good oynement,
He Baumede him, wiþ good entent.—
Lord, ȝif me grace swetnes to fynde
Þeos Vres þus to haue in mynde,

295

Þat suffredest for me þis harde paas!
At myn ende hit be my solas.—

Of Contemplacion of god in his owne kynde.

Þus schaltou þenke on his Monhed.
Now schal I teche of his godhed,
Þat from vr knowyng sumdel is hud,
And in foure wise to vs is kud:
In Creature, and in holy writ—
Þerof Ichaue my tale quit;
Þe þridde be Reuelacion,
Þe ffeorþe be monnes reson.
Bi Reuelacion God scheweþ him-selue
As he dude to þe prophetes twelue
And to oþere Mony on,
Or be Miracle open I-don.
Bi reson þus God maiȝt þou kenne,
Ȝif þou wolt þe be-þenke whenne
Þou were nouȝt or þou boren were;
Of oþer Creatures þe same manere,
Þat comen & gon eueriche day;
Þe soþe þer-bi wel wite þou may
And bi reson vndertake
Þat þei miȝt not hem-seluen make;
Heore biginnynge seþþen þou maiȝt se,
And of hem-self þei mowe not be,
Þenne mostou nede grante sum þing
Þat neuer hedde no bi-gynnyng,
Oþur þynges of whom comen alle,
God Almihti þat men calle.
But twei goddes ȝif þat þer were,
Þer moste nede be sum manere
Of diuersete hem bi-twene—
Al on elles moste þei bene;
Þen moste þat on, as wel I wot,
Sumwhat haue þat þe toþer hedde not;
Þen hedde þat on, sikerliche,
Ouþer to luyte or to muche;
Ȝif þat he hedde to luitel,
He were not god almihtful;

296

And to muche ȝif þat he hadde,
A sori god were and a badde
Þat to muche miȝte not do him fro—
To alle þing for þat is so.
Siþen two goddes þenne mowe not be,
On-lepi god þen graunte we.
But Ioye is non here in no two afye (!)
Wiþ-outen riht good cumpaynye.
Siþen God is ful of Ioye and blis,
In Godhed Cumpaynye þer is.
Be-twene lasse þen two mai hit not be:
Two persones in God þen mai we se.
But cumpaignie were nouȝt, I wene,
But þer were loue hem bi-twene:
Þe þridde persone, I wol warante,
In Trinite þen moste we graunte,
To make loue and Charite
In þe holy Trinite.
And þus mowe we knowe anon
Þreo persones and God but on.
In þi-self þou maiȝt a-tame
Open ensaumple of þis same:
In þi soule þou seost ful wel
Miht and Connynge þou hast sumdel;
Þi miȝt Connynge þe wiþ-Inne
To loue hem boþe þou const not blynne;
Þi miht is furst, and þenne cunnynge,
And of hem boþe comeþ louynge.
Þe same manere in god aboue:
Miht and Connynge and eke loue.

Þe ffader we callen þe furst Miht,
Connynge þe Sone, of him comeþ riht;
Þe holigost loue we calle,
Þat comeþ of boþe, knowleche we alle.

Al Monkynde [knoweþ] in toun and felde
Þe ffader waxeþ feble in his elde,
Þe Sone in his ȝouþe is not wys,
Of Monnes gost comeþ Malys.
In god lest men wolde wene þe same,
Þe ffader haþ miȝt, þe Sone wisdame;

297

His miht is euer gret inlike,
Þe sones wisdam may nouȝt be swike.
Þe Holigost he haþ goodnesse,
Wiþ-outen Malys More and lesse.
To knowe god þus furst men come
Bi resun—so maiȝt þou, ȝif þou take gome
Þin herte to god vp so to lifte,
In þeose þreo wyse as I skifte:
By his werk, and holy writ,
And bi resun of monnes wit
And of him-self in double kynde.
Wel ouȝte we þenne haue him in mynde,
Þat al þis world wiþ þat þer-Inne
Ȝaf, and him-self, vr loue to wynne.
Nou þou him knowest & his bounte,
Loue him wel for Charite
Euer-more to þi lyues ende!
To Ioye & blisse þen schaltou wende,
Þat he haþ ordeyned for vre solace.
Lord, bring vs þider for þi grace. Amen.
Þus endeþ þe spore of loue—
God grant vs þe blisse of heuene aboue.

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

Her is a gret lamentacion betwene vr ladi & seint Bernard, Of cristes passion, hire dere sone, þat was so pyneful & so hard.

298

Lewed men be not lered in lore,
As Clerkes ben in holi writ;
Þauȝ men prechen hem bi-fore,
Hit wol not wonen in heore wit:
Þerfore is þat I syke sore,
ffor broþurhede, as God hit bit,
And, ȝif cristes wille wore,
Wel fayn I wolde amenden hit.

Ȝif Crist haue send mon wit at wille,
Craft of Clergye, for to preche,
Alle hise hestes scholde we fulfille
As ferforþ as we mihten areche.
Ȝonge and olde, holdeþ ow stille:
ffor broþerhed I wol ow teche—
Þe Mon þat con, and teche nille,
He mai haue drede of godes wreche.

Þerfore ichaue on Englisch wrouȝt,
Seint Bernard witnesseþ in Latyn—
Mon may be glad in al his þouȝt
Þat his wit haþ leid þer-In.
Þe gospel nul I forsake nouȝt,
Þauȝ hit be writen in parchemyn;
Seynt Iones word, and hit be souȝt,
Þer-of hit wole be witnes myn.

While Ihesu crist on eorþe eode,

299

Mony of his Miracles writen þei were:
Þer nis no mon þat mihte rede
Þe goodnesse þat he dude here.
Men and wymmen, ȝe schulen haue mede,
Lusteneþ alle now me I-feere;
Ȝif I sigge mis, takeþ good hede,
And wisseþ me, þat hit betere were.

ffader and sone and holy gost,
Al-mihtiful god in Trinite,
Myn hope is on þi Modur most,
fful of grace and of pite:
Þouȝ I be synful, as þou wel wost,
Such grace þenne þow sende me
Sum word to speken wiþ-outen bost,
Þat sum men mowe þe beter be.

Gret del hit is to speke and say
Of him þat dyed on þe Roode,
How he vppon þe gode ffriday
ffor vs þenne schedde his herte-blode;
Alle hise disciples flowen a-way,
ffor doute of deþ þei were neiȝ wode:
Þer nis no tonge þat telle may
Þe serwe of Marie, his moder gode.

Heo him bar boþe god and Mon,
And siþen him clepede swete Ihesu,

300

And offrede him to Symeon—
fful wel þe prophete him he kneuȝ!
An Angel warnede vre ladi þon
Of kyng Heroude, þat was vntrewȝ,
And bad hire in to Egipte gon
ffor doute of deþ of mony a Iewȝ.

Euer was Marie glad I-nowȝ
Whon heo hire swete sone seȝe;
Whoderward þat Ihesu drouȝ,
He nas neuere out of hire eȝe.
Siþen men duden him gret wouȝ,
Harde peynes heo seiȝ hym dreiȝe,
His honden were nayled to a bouȝ,
Vppon a treo honged wel heiȝe.

Þauȝ heo weore wo no wonder nas:
Heo seiȝ hym blodi, bodi and croun,
Hire sone þat so gultles was,
Wiþ stremes of blod he ron a-doun.
To sen his peynes was gret pres,
Wymmen folewede him þorw þe toun,
Sore wepynge, wiþ-outen lees,
ffor gret deol of his passion.

Ihesu tornde, þat was so meke,
And spac wordes of gret pite
To þe wymmen þat þer speke,

301

And seide: “Wepeþ not for me!
ffor ȝoure children ȝe mowe wepe,
Þat doþ me schome, as ȝe mowe se.”
No wonder þouȝ hire herte breke,
Þat seiȝ hir sone so beten be!

Whon he was beten wiþ scourges sore,
Alle his frendes were from hym gon;
Þreo dayes vre feiþ was lore
Saue in Marie, his moder, al-on.
Bernard bereþ witnesse þerfore,
Also doþ hire Cosyn Ion:
ffor serwe þat heo hedde þore
On swouȝ heo fel sone a-non.

Þe blod out of hire eȝen ron,
Al-most hire herte clef a-two—
Seynt Bernard, þat holy mon,
Witnesseþ wel þat hit is so.
Seint Bernard in to chirche wenden he con,
To witen of þat Ladi wo.
To him wel feire speken heo gon,
What was his wille to asken þo.

“Ladi, ȝif hit be þi wille,
Tel me, as þou art heuene-qwene,
Hou þat þou weope þin herte fille,
Whon þei duden þi sone to scheme,

302

Whon þei him bounden and beoten ille
And Corounden him wiþ þornes kene,
And [he] bar þe Crois meke and stille
As þauȝ on hym non harm were sene.

“Ladi,” seide Bernard, “weore þou þere þo,
Þer Men him bounden and beoten so fast?
I wot þou weore not fer him fro,
Þin herte was stif and ful studefast!
Allas! whi nere myn herte so?
Whi is myn now so vnwrast?
Whi nolde hit cleue or breke a-two,
Or wepe while þat hit wolde last?

“Tel me þi serwe þin herte was in,
Whon þou seȝe þin oune fode,
Godes sone, his hed doun lyn,
Þer he hongede vppon þe Rode!
Þeiȝ he weore God, his flesch was þyn,
His bodi ron doun al on Blode.
Allas, whi nedde þi serwe be myn?
Whi nedde I stonden þer þou stode?

303

“Whon [þat] he his lyf forsook,
He bowede his hed & lafte his siȝt,
And nom his leue, his wey he tok
Vp to his fader ful of miht.
Witnesse wole þe holy book,
Þat day þe sonne les hire liht,
Þe Temple clef, þe eorþe qwok,
Þe dede a-risen to lyue apliȝt.

“Ladi, tak hit not a-gref,
Þeiȝ I speke of his peynes so;
To heren of him me is ful lef,
I ne may hit nouȝt for-go,
I seo him hongen as a þef,
Godes sone and þin also:
Ladi, þe teres þat þou þer ȝef,
Graunte me summe!” he seide þo.

“As þou art queen of heuene-blisse,
And I am here in gret perile,
Swete ladi, þow me wisse,
Þouȝ I be synful mon and vyle.
As þou art moder and Mayden I-wis:
What dude my lord in his exile?

304

Whon he was pyned wiþ-outen mis,
Whuche weren his wordes in þat while?”

“Bernard, þe wordes of þi Mouþ
To myn herte scheteþ a spere;
Þat speke of him bi norþ & souþ,
I-wis, þei don myn herte dere!
Wepynge is me now ful couþ,
Now þow wolt my peynes lere.
Mekeliche þow aske nouþe:
Bernard, I wol þe onswere!”

Bernard seide and gon to speke:
“Mi rihte were to wepe sore:
Min herte [is hard &] nul not to-breke,
I seo not hit wole melte fore.
I wolde he were in serwe steke,
Wiþ me to wepe euer-more:
Hit nil not of myn eȝen reke
To wepe, as my wille wore.

“As þou art Qwene of heuene & helle
And baar him þat vs deore haþ bouȝt,
Hou hit is þou most me telle,
Þing þat is now in my þouȝt:
Weore þou þere as men [wold] him qwelle,
In Ierusalem, þer he was souȝt

305

And nomen wiþ þe Iewes felle
And siþen bi-fore Cayphas brouȝt?”

Ovre ladi seide: “I was þere þo,
Sore I wep and wrong myn honde;
Whon þe Iewes him ladde me fro,
To folwe him wepinge miȝt I not wonde.
No wonder was þeiȝ me were wo,
Ac hit was wonder I miȝte stonde,
Whon I seiȝ hym to peyne go
And beo bounden in hard bonde.

“On Cene-þursday wiþ-Inne þe niht
Cayphas him nom, him þhouȝte gome,
Wiþ swerdes and wiþ lanternes briht,
And clepede him Ihesu by his nome.
He onswerde: ‘I am her riht.
Do my disciples for me no schome!’
ffor alle þe peynes þat him were diht,
He nolde his frendes hedde no blame.

“ffor no chesoun of his takyng
He wolde no mon þe worse were:
Þat schewed he wel in alle þing,
Boþe here and elles-where.
Peter, for soþe, made fihtyng
And smot sone of a Iewes ere:

306

Mi sone him blamed for þat þing
And also-swiþe heled hit þere.

“Iudas was ful of þe ffend,
fful wel my sone his tresun wust:
Þer he cleped him his frend
And Mekeliche he him cust.
Þe Iewes of harm hedde non ende,
Mi sone to-beten and to-pust,
Wiþ strokes þei gunne to him wende
And leyden on hym wiþ staf & fust.”

“Ladi,” seide Bernard, “God ȝelde hit þe!
Tel me more of Myn askyng:
Þi swete sone, what dude he?
Whi nolde he stonde wiþ fihtynge?
Bi kynde skil I may wel se
He mihte hem alle to deþe bringe.
Swete ladi, tel þou me
Al his semblaunt and his berynge!”

“A, Bernard, ȝif I teres had,
Nou miȝti wepe al my fille.
Of serwe nas I neuer sad,
Whon I þouȝte on his peynes ille.
Al-hou he was from me lad,
I haue told, and ȝit I wille,
And hou he was in serwe stad

307

And I him folewede wiþ teres grille.

“Þei hudden his eȝen & boffetede him þo
And beden him reden ho hit wore,
And duden hym peynes monie mo,
Þer nis no tonge may telle fore.
Þere stoden my sustren two
Þat hedden loued hym wel ȝore;
Marie Maudeleyn dude also,
Þat trewely louede him in hire lore.

“Hire loue was studefast and trewe,
And I hym louede ful trewelyche.
[Strong] is loue of ffrendes newe,
And of þe Moder nomeliche.
I seiȝ neuere my sone chaungen hewe,
But euere in on, as lomb I-lyche.
Sori þei were alle þat hym knewe,
And wepte for him, boþe pore & riche.

“ffrom Cayphas paleis þei him drouh
Riht to Pilate, my sone to spille.
He criȝede not, as men duden him wouȝ,
He eode wiþ hem wiþ gode wille,
Euere he was Meke I-nouȝ
And heold him boþe clos and stille.
Pilat wolde not þat þei hym slouh,

308

In his dedes he fond non skille.

“Þei stripte hym þat ilke stounde,
To a piler bounden him þat day,
And beoten him whil þei warm him founde.
Þen was my song weilaway!
ffour þousend & fyf hundred wounde
Þei maden on him, for soþe to say,
And seiden on skorn vppon þe grounde:
‘Þi prophecye helpe þe ne may.’

“Mi leue Bernard, gret was my care
Whon þei criede wel faste in on:
‘Do Ihesu on þe Crois ful [ȝare]
And dilyuere vs Barraban!’
Goddes sone to Iugge þare
And leten a þef to lyue gon,
Bernard, þis was a sori fare,
Such dom hedde neuer no mon!

“Þus þe Iewes steorne and stoute
Mi sone hedden in hard bonde.
Pilate hedde of hem more doute
Þan he hedde of godes sonde:
Þat was I-sene, he ladde him oute
And dude him to þe Iewes honde.
Þe Iewes þrongen him a-boute,
And I for serwe mihte not stonde.

309

“Whon he was dempt and out sent,
Alle þei duden hym gret dispite.
He nom þe Cros and forþ [he] went,
Wiþ wraþþe þei driuen him, muche & lyte.
Allas þat lomb [þat] Innocent!
Wolues wolde him sore a byte.
Þe care was at myn herte lent,
Mi serwe mihte no mon wyte.

“I suwede, & swouhnede mony a siþe,
Mi sustren comen a-bouten me;
I spac to him as I miȝte kiþe,
Whon I him for pres mihte se.
Mi sone hiȝede him wel blyue
And bar him-self þat heui tre,
And let me beo be-hynde vnbliþe:
Bernard, þen gomede me no gle.”

“Merci,” seide Bernard, “heuene queene,
Þou hast so muche me i-told!
Ȝit þer is wel more I-sene,

310

Þat ful fayn witen I wold:
Hou bar my lord him, ladi schene,
A-Mong þe Iewes breme and bold?
His harde peynes alle be-dene
But þou me teche, myn herte is cold.

“Ladi, of þe and of þi childe
I wolde wite a more strif:
What dude my lord meke and mylde
To þe endyng of his lyf?
I haue seȝen séé and watres wylde,
Stremes and wawes two and fyue;
Swete ladi, from schome vs schylde
And to riȝte hauene þou [do] vs ryue!

“I haue seȝen men þat nolde not loute
Til þat þei þe harde I-seȝe,
And siþen for drede of deþes doute
Heore herte a-rysen vp an hiȝe.
Whon his enemys were him a-boute,
Hou miȝt he al heor scornyng driȝe?
In his face þei spitte and spoute:
Whi wolde he suffre þat vilenye?”

Oure ladi seyde: “His herte was stif,
And mekely suffrede al her fare;

311

Monnus soule him was ful lef,
Wiþ his blod he bouȝte hem þare.
He seiȝ me stonde in serwe & gref,
Wiþ wepyng and wiþ muche care:
Mi serwe dude him more gref
Þen alle þe peynes he suffrede þare.

“And þat was ful wel I-sene,
Whon he tok me to seynt Ion;
Meke he was, wiþ-outen wene,
Þat tyme he loked me vppon.
Þen wox my serwe couþ and grene,
Of anguissche I mai make my mon.
I wol þe telle al be-deene
His harde peynes euerichon.

“Lusten to me, my Broþer Bernard,
I wol þe telle of peynes more—
Þyn herte schal ben ful hard,
But hit greue þe ful sore;
Þauh I haue a parti spard
Of his peynes herbifore,
I wol þe telle her-afturward
His harm an hundred siþe sore.

“Bernard, I saiȝ my sone honge
As þauȝ he were a Mayster-þef,
His Bak and syden sore I-swonge

312

Þat white were and me ful lef.
He was Crouned wiþ þornes stronge,
In eueri syde þei duden him gref,
And drowen him on þe cros a-longe,
His senewes to-bursten & to-dref.

“Þe blod ron doun bi Bodi and heued—
Þat lykede þe corsede Iewes wel!
Wiþ spotel & blod he was be-weued,
Þat he was lyk a foul Mesel.
He was to-drawen and to-dreued
And Nayled wiþ þre Nayles of stel.
Þen was my strengþe me be-reued,
And al-most a-doun I fel.

“I seiȝ where foure welles were
Out of his lymes ron o-blode.
Bernard frend, my sone dere
Þus him seruede þe Iewes wode!
Ich hedde gret blisse whon I him bere,
And of his þewes monye and gode:

313

[Þen] al wox won Bodi and leore,
Þat feirest was of alle fode.

“So feir ȝit was neuer nomon,
As bereþ witnesse holy writ:
Þenne was his beute al a-gon,
As þe gospel telleþ hit.
I hedde a sone, nou haue I non,
Me wonteþ boþe weole and wit;
I not in world whoder to gon
ffor serwe þat in myn herte sit.

“Bernard, hedde I honged him bi,
Sum-tyme my serwe hedde be pas.
I stod and loked vppon hiȝ,
Wher heng my ioye and my solas.
Þe Iewes seiȝ me ful sori,
Þer as I stod in þe plas:
ffor þat I made sereweful cri,
Þei beede me schome and harde gras.

“ffaste I criȝede in my manere,
Ȝut ne was I not I-herd;
Þo I criȝede, he mihte me here,
Witnesse boþe of lewed and lered;
‘Merci!’ I criȝede to my sone dere,

314

‘Al-one þou leue[st] me in desert!’
Þenne he bi-tok me til a fere
And bad, I scholde not ben a-ferd.

“Allas, Bernard, þat I scholde se
Mi sone hongen bifore my feete!
I seide: ‘Sone, let me dye wiþ þe,
Er þen þou þi lyf for-lete!
Mi sone, my lord and al my gle,
Þou hast euere be Milde and swete:
But þou haue pite now of me,
Þer may no mon my Bale bete.’

“I criede: ‘Maudeleyn, help now—
Mi sone haþ loued ful wel þe:
Preie him þat I dye mow,
Þat I nout for-ȝeten be!
Seost þow, Maudeleyn, now,
Mi sone is honged on a tre,
Ȝit alyue am I and þow,
And þou ne preyest not for me!’

“Maudeleyn seide: ‘I con no red,
Care haþ smiten myn herte sore;

315

I stonde, I seo my lord neih ded,
And þi wepyng greueþ me more.
Cum wiþ me! I wol þe lede
In to þe temple her be-fore.
Mi Mournynge is boþe feble & fede,
ffor þou hast now I-wept ful ȝore.’

“Ich askede þe Magdaleyn: ‘wher is þat place,
In pleyn, in valeye or in hille,
[Þer] I mai me huyde for eny cas,
Þat no serwe come me tille?
He þat al my Ioye was,
Now deþ of hym wol don his wille;
Con I me no beter solas
Þen for to wepe al my fille.’

“Þe Maudeleyn cumfortede me þo,
To lede me þenne, heo seide, was best.
Care hedde smiten myn herte so
Þat I miȝte neuere haue no rest.
‘Soster, whoderward þat I go,

316

Þe wo of hym is in my Brest;
While my sone hongeþ so,
His peyne is in myn herte fest.

“‘I seih my sone, [my] ffader dere
Heiȝe hongen vp-on a tre;
I hedde blisse whon I him bere,
And now deþ for-doþ my gle:
Scholde I leten him hongen here
And lete my sone al-one be?
Maudeleyn, þenne vnkynde I were,
Ȝif he schulde honge & I schulde fle!

“‘Vnder þe Cros leuen I-schille
And seo my sone hongen þer-on;
Of siȝt I nedde neuere my fille,
Whon I loke[d] hym vppon.’
I bad hem gon wher was heore wille,
Þe Maudeleyn and euerichon:
‘And my-seluen be-leuen I wole,
ffor I nil fle for no mon.’”

Bernard [seide]: “wordes swete
Þe Maudeleyn also gon say;
Ladi, [heo seiȝ] þi serwe vn-meete
And fayn [heo] wolde han it a-way

317

And, deore ladi, þi bale to beten;
But in riȝt resun was his way.
Ladi, ȝif I dorste þe be-sechen,
To aske þe more I wolde þe pray.

“Of angussche þou hast told me strong;
Myn herte is not as Ich wolde,
I ne may hit wiþ serwe fonge,
And what my lord siggen wolde,
To aske þe more nul I not wonde,
Whon þe Iewes Breme and bolde
Naylede him þorw feet and honde,
Aftur þat Iudas hedde hym solde.”

“Bernard, I haue told my þouȝt:
Wolt þou now ȝit aske me more?
Be I forþere in tales brouȝt,
I-wis, þou greues me ful sore.
Ac for þou hast me be-souȝt,
Bleþeliche I wol telle þe fore;
I wot, þow art in longyng brouȝt,
To witen wat his wille wore.

“Whon my sone deþ scholde han,
Delful wordes wiþ him þer were:
ffurst he seide: ‘be-hold, wommon!’

318

And siþen he seide: ‘be-hold þou here!’
And siþen he seide to seynt Ion:
‘Kep my moder leof and dere!’
Me þouȝte myn herte al to-chon
Such wordes of hym for to here.

“He bed Ion, as he was hende,
Kepe me and ben al at my bone
Whoderward I wolde hym sende,
As him-self was wont to done.
‘Heþen,’ he seide, ‘I mot wende,
Mi tyme neiȝeþ swiþe sone,
I may her no lengor lende,
I mot in to my fader trone.

“‘Moder, þe Bodi þat þou bere,
In hard penaunce þou miht hit se,
[ffor] al Monkynde þat dede were
ffrom deþ schal areysed be.
I seo a schep, þat was me dere,
Þat wiþ wronge was stolen from me:
I schal him bringe þer he was ere,
And of his þraldam make him fre.

“‘Þe schep be-tokneþ al monkynde,
Mi fader wolde þat hit weore souȝt;
Wiþ-owten me may no mon [hit] fynde,
ffor wiþ my blod hit mot be bouȝt.
I wol hit bringe to riȝte mynde,
To my blisse he mot be brouȝt,
And þou [ne] schalt, moder, leue be-hynde:
Swete Moder, ne wep þow nouȝt!

319

“‘Þauȝ þou seo me hongen heiȝe,
I prey þe, Moder, ne wep not sore;
Al þe peyne, þou seost me drye,
Hit is to saue mon þerfore.
Betere hit is þat on dye
Þen al Monkynde euer-more.
So longe schal I not lye
Þat I [ne] schal wel my deþ restore.’

“Þus were his wordes loken in on
Þat seint Ion scholde me loke.
Þauȝ he were my kynnes-mon,
Þerfore ich him [for] sone toke.
Such wordes he speke con
Þat al my Ioye I þer for-soke.
Bernard, þow most þis wordes tan
And craftliche writen hem in boke!

“Bernard, O þing dude me wo:
He þursted, my sone, & gon to crie.
To ȝiuen him drinke þei þouȝte þo,
Þe Iewes ful of ffelenye:
Eysel and Galle þei mengeden also,
Wiþ a sponge þei brouȝt hit an hiȝe
And wiþ a launce þei putte him to,
Þe Iewes ful of Ribaudye.

“I criede to hym: ‘ne drynk hit nouȝt!
Þe Iewes on scorn hit [haue] I-mad:
Hit is Eysel and Galle I-wrouȝt,
Ȝif hit stynke, þou miȝt be sad.’
Loueliche he me be-souȝt,
Þat I scholde boþe be bliþe and glad:

320

‘Þorw þis drynke Adam [is] bouȝt,
I drynke hit as my ffader bad.

“‘Þerfore I preye þe, Moder hende,
Lef þi deol, ne wep no more!
And I schal to my ffader wende
And bring hem vp þat were for-lore.
And after þe þen schal I sende:
But I mot, Moder, go bi-fore,
And after schalt þou wiþ me lende
In Ioye and blisse for euer-more.’

“Þenne þe Iewes ful of pride
Two þeues þei hynge my sone bi;
Þat on þat hengede bi his syde
Criȝede to my sone Merci.
Þat oþur onswerde in þat tyde:
‘He hongeþ herre þen þou or I
On þe Croys wiþ woundes wyde,
To crie Merci, þow dost foly.’

“Þat oþur seide: ‘Mon, þow art wod,
Þis ilke Mon [is dampned] þorw false red,
He haþ do noþing bote gode,
He weore not worþi to be ded.
Ihesu as þou art mylde of mode,

321

Whon þou comest to þi godhed,
Þorw vertu of þyn holy blode
Þe riȝte wey þat þou me lede!’

“Mi sone seide: ‘Mon, þou art wys,
ffor þin askyng Blessed þou be!
Þerfore I graunte þe paradys,
Þis day þou schalt my Ioye i-se.’
I stod and lokede in heore Vys,
Þo þei hongede vppon þe tre:
Þat o þef wente to heuene-blis,
Þat oþer gon to helle fle.

“Þis was, Bernard, my grete solas,
Þat O þef so sone heuene won;
Þenne wuste I wel in heore cas,
Mi sone was studefast God and Mon.
And [as] I my-self stod in þe plas,
Mi sone ful loude crie he con:
‘Heloy, heloy,’ his criȝing was,
‘Lamaȝabatani,’ after þon.”

Þis is now, as ȝe mowe [se],
On Englisch to vnderstonde bi:
“‘ffader,’ he seide, ‘In Trinite,
Whi forsakest þou my Merci?
Hider I com þorw red of þe,
To þe I take my soule an hiȝ.
Wiþ wrong I dye vppon þe tre,
To fulfille þe propheci.’”

322

“Merci, ladi,” seide Bernard,
“Swete Moder, God ȝelde hit þe!
On Serterday, I haue herd,
How he was went a-wei from þe,
And on þe ffriday how he ferd,
Þer he hongede on þe tre.
Al-how þe Iewes him bi-cherd,
Loueli ladi, lere þow me!

“And how he was after taken adoun,
Tel me, Moder Marie Mylde,
Of þe Crois aftur þe passioun,
How þou weope for þi chylde
And geete him wiþ þis (!) orisoun
Of Pilate and of þe Iewes wylde!
Þe holy lore of þis passioun
ffrom þe fend hit may vs schilde.

“Tel me, ladi briht and schene,
Wȝuche were þi frendes euerichon
Þat wolde at his buriing bene,
And how þou were saued from þi fon
In þe Temple, wiþ-outen wene;
Þe serwe of þe and of seint Ion

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Tel me, ladi, al be-dene,
Of þi sone bodi and bon!”

Oure ladi seide: “Bernard, allas,
What woltou more aske me?
Tel I þe forþure of þis cas,
Þe swerd of deþ wol neiȝ me sle.
Ioseph a-non nom his pas
And bed his bodi vppon þe tre.
Pilate him grauntede and Cayphas,
Ȝif þat þei witen, þat he ded be.

“Pilate[s] kniȝtes steorne and stoute
fforþ wiþ Iosep gunne þei wende,
And oþure kniȝtes wiþ gret route,
Summe his fon and summe his frende.
ffurst þis kniȝtes wenten aboute
And bursten boþe Bak and lende;
[Bernard], þen was I in gret doute,
So han to serued my sone hende.

“I suwed after wiþ al my miht,
Ion and my sustren two.
Here now, Bernard, al apliht,
Þe strengeste pyne of al my wo.
Be-syde þe Roode þen stod a kniȝt,
Blynd he was and lome also,
Alle þei seide Longeus he hiȝt:
Vnder þe Roode þei dude him go.

“Þei token him a launce good

324

And sette hit to my sone syde,
And Longeus þruste wiþ gret mod
To my sone herte gon glyde;
Þe water & þe rede blod
Ron doun of his woundes wyde.
Doun I fel al þer I stod,
No lengor stonde I ne miȝte þat tyde.

“Þei weore went to sire Pilate,
And we bi-lafte wiþ reuthful rou[n].
Whon þei weore I-gon heore gate,
[I bad] Ioseph nime hym a-doun,
Til I hym hedde, me þhouȝte ful late,
Þe Iewes weoren alle ful feloun.
Ioseph seide to me wiþ þate:
‘To bringe him þe we ben ful boun.’

“Nichodemus þe nayles out drowȝ,
And Ioseph nom him in his Arm;
Mi sone he louede wel I-nouȝ,
He tok hym doun wiþ-outen harm,
And nom him of þe heiȝe bouȝ
And leyde him softe in my Barm.

325

His swete Mouþ on me hit louh,
And ȝit ne was hit no-þing warm.

“His loue hedde bounde me so faste,
Þo wepen I moste in alle wyse.
Hit was euere in my [gast]
Þe þridde day he scholde aryse—
Þe rihte be-leeue on me he caste,
And I Conceyuede þe rihte asyse;
Ich wuste ful wel atte laste
I schulde hym seo a-mong alle hise:

“And ȝit miȝt I not for-bere,
Bernard, for to wepe sore;
Myn hondes I wrong, myn her I tere,
Whon he lay ded me be-fore.
I seiȝ wel, I durste swere,
Ȝif eny serwe In Angeles wore,
Þei miȝte wepe mony a tere
ffor þe del þat I seih þore.

“Siþen heuene was maad & erþe also
And wommon formed aftur mon,
More serwe ne more wo
Neuere tonge telle con

326

Þen we maden whon we scholde go
To bere mi sone in to þe ston.
Ion and my sustren two
fful mony siþen þei swoune gon.

“Euere I criȝede ful pitousliche:
‘Lordynges, what haue ȝe I-þouȝt?
Hit is my sone I loue so muche,
ffor Godes loue, burie him nouȝt!’
Þei nolde not leue, þeiȝ I gon siche,
Til þat he were in graue i-brouȝt;
Þei wounden him in cloþes riche
And euer Merci [I] hem be-souȝt.

“Ioseph leide him in þe ston,
Nichodemes halp him wel,
And riche oynemens leyde him vp-on
And wounden him in clene sendel;
Heo seiȝ þer was no beter won,
Bote burie him þei were ful snel.
Þen loked I on my Cosyn Ion,
ffor serwe boþe a-doun we fel.

“Whon I stod vp and bi-held,
In world I nuste what was best;
ffor gret serwe my fingres I feld,
ffor wepyng miȝt I haue no rest:
Þe ouer-ston ouer him þei heold,
Ioseph hit wolde in close fest,
To him I fel þat was my child,

327

His swete Mouþ wel ofte I cust.

“Ion seiȝ I was in poynt to spille,
In my bodi I was ful seke,
Euere I stod In criȝyng schille,
Þat neiȝ myn herte dude to-breke:
He heold his serwe in herte stille
And myldeliche gon he to me speke:
‘Marie, ȝif hit beo þi wille,
Go we henne!’ þe Maudeleyn eke.

“And whon we to toune come,
Þer as þe wey lay a-twynne,
Vche mon leue at oþer nome,
And wenten hom to heore Inne.
Sore I sykede and I-lome,
Of wepyng miht I neuer blynne,
To speke wiþ hem [had I] no tome
ffor serwe þat myn herte was Inne.

“Þei ladde me to a Chaumbre þo
Þer my sone was woned to be,
Ion and þe Maudeleyn also,
ffor no þing nolde þei from me fle.
I lokede aboute in eueri wro,
I couþe nouȝwhere my sone se,

328

We set vs doun in serwe and wo
And gunne to wepe alle þre.

“Þus, Bernard, we weren in care,
In serwe of herte & gret Mournyng,
Til we wuste hou hit wolde fare
At my sones vp-rysyng.
Nou haue I told þe wiþ-oute spare
Alle his peynes wiþ-oute partyng.
Bernard, I was euer þare,
To witen after his vp-rysyng.”

“Graunt Merci, dame, God ȝelde hit þe,
Wyf and Maiden, Moder Milde,
Þat þou hast so muche i-told me
Of serwe of þe and of þi chylde!
Now am I siker, wher þat I teo,
In wode, in water or in felde,
To make þe foule fend to fleo,
Þat euer was so wod and wylde.

“Ladi, for þi muchele wo,
Þat neuere no tonge may of telle,
Þe serwe of þe and him also
Þat him dude þe Iewes felle:
Leeue vs neuere skape þer-fro,
But euer-more In ioye to dwelle;
Whon we schul dye and henne go,
Schilde vs from þe pyne of helle!

Amen.”

329

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

Swiþe muche neode hit is
Þat vche mon be war and wys
To kepe him from þe fendes lore—
ffor he fondeþ euer-more.
And þat we mowen alle I-witen
As hit is in þe Bok I-writen,
I wol ow telle, as I con,
How þe fend tempteþ a Mon.—

Hit was vppon an haly-day: In an heiȝ feste of þe ȝere;
Muche folk was to churche gon: Godes word for to here;
Þe Preost of þe chirche vndude þe gospel
And lerede his parischens, as he couþe wel,
And bad hem openly nyme good ȝeme
Hou þei scholden god wel queme
And schenden þe foule fend of helle,
Þat fondeþ euere iliche monnus soule to qwelle.
Whon þe prest hedde I-spoken & don what he wolde,
Þe folk wente hamward, as riȝt was þei scholde.

A good mon þer was, þat hamward gon rake,
And þouȝte ful ȝeorne of þat þe prest spake;
He eode be him one wiþ-oute fere ȝerne,
ffor no-mon of his þenkyng schulde hym werne.

Þe wikked fend of helle þerof hedde onde
And hastiliche sende to him his sonde.
His Messager redi was forte don his wille,
Him to bi-swyke, queynteliche & stille.
In þe wei he hym mette
And feire þenne he hym grette—

330

Was he no fend i-lyche,
But as a mon feir and riche;

Þe gode Mon was not war
Of þe deuel, þat com þar.

Quaþ þe wikked Counseyler:
“ffelawe, wel I-met her!
Sei me, as nou mote þou þe,
Wher hast þow now I-be?”

“I com from þe chirche, what woldestou þer-bi?
What þou art & whi þou askest, tel me nou, belamy!”
“I am a ferren mon and a wey-feryng,
Spek wiþ me feire, wiþ-outen grucchyng!
Hastou atte churche I-herd eny sarmoun,
Vndoynge of þe gospel or of lessoun?
I preyȝe þe, gode felawe, ȝif þi wille be,
Al þat þou herdest, tel hit nou to me!
ffor I con my-self, beo my lewete,
Of alle-maner lore gret plente.
I con wel I-knowe, I sei þe, for-þi,
Wher hit were wisdam þat he spac, or elles foli.
Wys þow schalt fynde me and hende;
ffor, ȝif he out fals haþ seid, I schal hit amende.
Þauh þow to me haue no trist,
I con more þen þe prest,
And better I wot, forsoþe I-wys,
How men schulen come to blis,
And also more I con telle
Wherfore Men schule go to helle.”

Þe goode mon bigon his tale: þat oþur ȝerne con luste;
Al couþe he not telle: But dude þat he wuste.
“Ouer alle þing he vs tauhte: To loue god, ful of miht,
And siþen vre euencristene: As we ouȝten wiþ riht.
He spac of dedli synnes: And seide þer weore seuene,
And whose dyede þer-Inne: Scholde neuere comen in heuene:

Pruide is þe furste: Envye is þat oþer,
Wraþþe is þe þridde: Þat mon haþ to his broþer,
Þe feorþe is Couetyse: Þe fyfþe is Lecherie,
Þe sixte is Sleuþe: Þe seueþe is Glotonye.
Mest he spac of pride, and lered more and lasse

331

fforto leue pride and loue Buxumnesse;

ffurst, abouen alle þing, wiþ al vre miht
Worschipen & louen god, boþe day & niht,
And louen vre kunrede, as þe lawe wile,
And alle cristene men, as hit is skile.
ffor alle we schulen wiþ riȝte louen vchon oþur
Wiþ al vre miȝte, as suster doþ þe broþur;
ffor breþeren we aren & sustren, as we schul al leue,
Alle þat euere icome ben of Adam & of Eue.”

Þe wikked gost was ful ȝare
And ȝaf þe gode mon onsware:
“Þow spekest,” he seide, “of louyng,
Þat mon schulde furst of alle þing;
Þat loue god schal eueri mon,
And siþen his neihȝebor, as he con.
Bote hou miȝtest þou trewe loue
Haue to him þat is aboue,
Whon he so ofte wraþþeþ þe
And let þe in muche myschef be?
He let þi catel from þe falle,
Hors in stable and Oxe in stalle,
And oþer þing awey let go,
And suffreþ þe be brouȝt in muche wo.
Ȝif þou art sek in syde and Ribbe,
Þat vnneþes maiȝt þou libbe,
Or þin hed sore akeþ
And al þi bodi for serwe quakeþ,
Þorw him þe comeþ al þis.
Loue him not, I rede, I-wis!
Hou miȝtest þou loue him wiþ skile
Þat miȝte þe helpe and ne wile?”

Þe goode mon wel vnderstod
Þat he seide was not good.
“After þi red wol I not do,
ffor þe prest ne bad not so.
I wot of alle þing, be hit what-so hit be,
Boþe beter & wors, my lord sendeþ to me.
Þauh I oþur-while haue I-had wo,
Þorw god þat hit sende hit haþ ouer-go;
Hit was for my gode—þonked be he—

332

He wolde þat I scholde bi þat I-war be.
Þauȝ he me be-reue anon to my Ribbe,
Þat I haue vnneþe wher-wiþ to libbe,
Ne wol I not be wroþ þerfore, ne no riȝt hit nis:
ffor al þat I haue, al hit is of his;
Al þat I haue, he leneþ me, I-wis,
He mai taken hit aȝeyn, whon his wille is.
So he haþ don ful ofte—I-blessed mot he be—
And ȝaf me wel more þen he birafte me.
And þauȝ he of-pyne me in seknesse sore,
Hit is for my gode, I loue him þe more;
Þer-wiþ he me warneþ his comaundement to breke,
And sent me such teone him for to wreke;
I mai þen amende me of þat I haue don ille,
And beeten þat I haue agult aȝein godes wille.

Þreo þinges þer beþ, as I haue herd telle,
Seide me þe prest in his lore-spelle,
ffor whom I ouȝte loue Ihesu ful of miȝte,
And worschipe him as I con, as me wel iȝte:
Þe furste þing of þe þre, is þat he me wrouȝte
After him-self, as hym best þouȝte;
Þat oþur, þat he bouȝte me on þe swete Rode
Wiþ his oune flesch & wiþ his oune blode;
Þe þridde, þat he cleped me to his oune feste
In to þe blisse of heuene, þat euer schal i-leste.
ffor on of þise I ouȝte to louen him wel apliȝt,
Betere I ouȝte for alle, & þat is good riȝt.”

Þe wikkede gost onswerde þo:
“Lete we þis tale go,
Leue we þis disputyng
And speke we of oþur þing.
Þow spekest aȝeyn pruide
And þer-of takest muche hyde.
Aȝeyn þe riȝte is þat þou says,
And þerfore me mis-pays.
Þou seist þe prest, þat syngeþ Messe,
Lered þe to Boxumnesse;
He was wod, so art þou ek,
And alle þo þat so spek.
Leef þou nouȝt þat hit be soþ!

333

Hit nis no-mon þat so doþ.
I sigge þat pruide nis no synne:
ffor þer-þorwȝ comeþ worldes wynne.
Þat maiȝt þou witen, I-wis,
Whon þou wost what hit is.
Ȝif þou be knowen for wys
And holden art of muche prys
And þat þou art riche mon and wlouȝ
And of richesse hast inouh:
Þauȝ þou lyȝe, as mony mon doþ,
Men wolleþ wene þat hit be soþ,
And clepe þe forþ for heore euenyng,
Bi-foren hem þat habbeþ no-þing.
Ȝif þou art proud and Modi
And berest þe bold and hardi,
Men þat stondeþ þe aboute
Þenne of þe wolen haue gret doute,
Wiþ þe wolen þei comen and speke,
Þi loue to haue and hem to wreke.
Þou mayȝt for þi bolde beryng
Be proud & riche in alle þing,
And ouur-al maiȝt þou comen and go,
Whon a Moppe dasart schal not so;
As a lord schalt þou be cald,
Þer oþure schul stonde be-hynde vn-bald,
And oueral þer þou gost aboute
Þe schal folewe ful gret route;
Of þe schal vche mon stonde gret eiȝe,
Wher þou wolt, þou miȝt go pleye.
Do nou as I haue I-counseyled þe:
Proud & stout euer þat þou be!
ffor ȝif þou drawe þe to cumpaigny
Of pore wrecches þat wone þe by,
Vche a Mon þat beo þe wey goþ
Of hem schalt þou be swiþe loþ,
And alle wolle þei ful ȝare
Lauhwhe þe to bisemare
And sigge: “lo, Men mowe wel se
What Mon þat he þenkeþ to be!
A wrecche sone wol he ben,

334

To wrecches he draweþ, as alle men sen;
Wel Men may seo alle bi þan
Þat neuer-more wol he beo man.”
Þe gode Mon vnderstod
Þat þat þe toþur seide was not good.
“Do wei,” he seide, “þi lore : Ne spek no more of pryde:
Hit doþ þe soule muche wo : And helpeþ þe bodi luyte.
Whon I þenke on þinges þre : Boþe niht and day
Pruide ne worldes blisse : Glade me ne may.
ffurst, whon I beo-þenke me : And am wel I-ware
How I com in to þis world : Boþe naked and bare;
Nedde I to myn hed houue ne hod,
Ne Robe to my bac, badde ne good,
But a foul red clout, þat I was boren In,
Þat tok I of my Moder, and was a foul skyn—
Al is soþ þat I seye, þeiȝ I speke in Rym—
Þei coruen hit of me & wosch awei mi slym.
In to þis world þus com I wrecched & bare,
And so, wot I wel, I schal heþen fare.
Þei wounden me in cloutes, for cold & for schame,
ffor I ne scholde forfare, þei hulede mi licame.
Al-Maner quik þing þat is þorw Godes miht,
Whon hit comeþ furst forþ, con him-self diht,
Haþ of him-self kyndeliche wede,
And con him-self purchase mete to his nede,
And haþ þorw kynde miȝt for to gon,
Þer kynde of mon haþ riȝt non,
Bute vn-miȝti wrecches alle are we.
Hou scholde I be proud, whon I þis se?
Þat oþur is, whon I þenke on Adam and Eue,
Hou þei weren in paradys wel & wiþ leue;
Þer wiþ-outen synne þei miȝte haue ben in blis,
Ȝif þei nedden agult aȝeyn god, i-wis;
Þer þei miȝten han I-wonet in murþe & in wynne:
But sone þei were driuen out, for þei dide sinne.
And þerfore ha we muche wo, serwe & vuel-fare,
And wonen in þis middel-ert in serwe & in care.
Weilawei & weilawo, þat synne was I-wrouȝt!
In muche peyne for sinne are mony men I-brouȝt;

335

Alle wo & seknes þat eny mon is Inne,
Al is, for he haþ i-greuet ofte god wiþ synne.
Þer is in þis world muche falshede,
Þer is no treuþe wel neiȝ, in word ne in dede,
Þe sone be-gileþ þe fader, þe douȝtur þe moder,
Þe sibbe þe frende, vche mon oþer.
Nis no worldes blisse þat nul ouur-go,
Ne nout no murie on eorþe þat nis meynt wiþ wo.
But þe blisse of paradys, þat lasteþ euer-more,
Whon I þenke þeron, me longeþ þider sore.
Hou scholde I þenne be proud for eny þing,
Or eny oþer mon, þat is in longyng?

Þe þridde þing is þat I þenke, þat I schal wende henne
Out of þis world, but wot I neuer whenne,
Ne wot I whodur mi soule schal. þerfore sore i drede:
ffor aftur mi werkes are, schal hit haue mede;
Riht as I haue deseruet, þe weole or þe wo
Certeinliche schal I haue, i mai not fle þer-fro.
Beo I in mi put leid, þer wormus schul eten me,
Worþe to nouȝt schal I þenne, as neuer hedde I be;
Þe her of myn hed, ȝeleuȝ so þe wex,
Schal dwynen a-wey so doþ þe drex,
Mi feire eȝen schulen out renne,
Mi white teþ schulen foule grenne,
Mi feire hondes and fingres longe
Schul rote & stynke swiþe stronge.
Men wol for mi good make striuyng
And puyte me out of al my þing.
Þulke þat weren I-wont ofte me to grete,
Þei wol not her þonkes wiþ me meete.
Alle þe frendes þat I now haue,
ffor me gladliche wol þei don al þat I craue;
Weore I in mi graue, out of heore siht,
Luite wolde þei for me do, be dai or be niȝt.
Nedde I neuere so muche good, al hit wolde go,
Whon mi soule & mi bodi ar parted a-two.
Mi bodi schal leuen her, mi soule faren henne,
Al þe worldes pride luitel helpeþ þenne.

Viterde hodes and Clokes also,
Al þat vile pride schal don hem ful wo;

336

Þei struye godes good þer-wiþ : And torne hit to fen,
Þat muche mihte helpe : Sely pore men.
Now is non worþ a fart,
But he bere a baselart
I-honget bi his syde,
And a swynes Mawe, & al is for pride.
Godus grame, stirap on his cappe is knit,
Þat an vnche haþ he not on for to sit;
Muche meschef and gret colde : On his hers he has,
Men miȝte, ȝif his brech weore to-tore : Seon his genitras.

And also þis wymmen : Þat muchel haunteþ pride,
Wiþ hornes on heore hed : Pinned on vch a syde,
Maad of an old hat : And of a luytel tre,
Wiþ selk scleyres I-set aboue : Apparisaunt to be;
Heore Reuersede gydes : On hem are streyt drawe—
But al be of þe newe aget : Hit is not worþ an hawe.
Þei wenen a ben ful feire : And wonder foul þei be;
And a wolden be-þenken hem : Of heore priuete
And hou foule þei are : In soule and in bodi,
Þei ouȝte wiþ heore wepyng : Make heore chekes rodi.
But þei leue pride, & oþur synnes mo,
Schortly to telle, to helle schul þei go.
Whon I þenke her-vppon : Mi care is wel þe more;
Luytel wonder is hit : Þauh I sike sore.
Hou scholde I be proud or elles modi?
Alle ouȝte we to be for synne sori.—

Ȝit þou counseildest me a luytel while ere
Þat I scholde not be pore mennes fere;
Þou seidest I scholde ben holden an vn-mon.
No-mon wol sigge so þat eny good con.
Þauȝ I & a pore Mon, þat beggeþ his fode,
Be not I-liche riche of þe worldes gode,
Men mai seo þe soþe & þe skile riȝt
Hou we schule bitwene vs vre loue diȝt:
Ȝif I do mi cloþus of anon to my liche
Þat I am icloþed in, þat beþ gode & riche,
And a pore beggere, þat haþ muche wo,
Wiþ cloutede cloþes dude also,
And we stode naked boþen I-fere:

337

Boþe miȝte we þenne ben oþures pere;
Hose vs seȝe and knewe vs neyþer,
Þenne miȝt þei wene þat we were breþer.
Þenne most I louen him, and he louen me,
Whon vre kynde robes beþ of o ble:
Þo are þe Robes we were wiþ I-bore—
Ar we liggen & rote, ne worþ þei to-tore;
Let us be lyk in sum þing, as wel I wot we are,
Al-þauȝ I be riche, & he pore & bare.”

Þe wikked gost onswerde þo
And bad let þat tale go,
“Lete we þis dispuytyng
And speke we of anoþer þing.
Þou spekest & seist þe prest haþ forbode
Wraþþe & onde, þorw biddyng of gode.
Hit was neuer forbode of no wys mon,
But of sum folte, þat no good ne con.
Ȝif þou sest þi broþur or þi kun or a-noþur
Þat he be feiror þen þou be, or wisor þen þou ouþur,
Or ricchor or baldor or be of beter i-told:
Þauȝ þin herte be wo
& of-þinke þat hit is so,
Who mihte þe blame?
Wel miȝt þou þenne þinke schame
And vuel may hit þe like
Þat he schal be so heiȝ : And þou not so riche.”
Þe gode mon wel vnderstod
Þat þat þe toþur seide was not good.
“Aftur þi counseil wol I not do,
ffor þe prest seide not so.
No mon haþ so muche good : Þat I wolde he hedde more,
Ne so feir ne so strong ne so wys of lore,
Hit of-þuncheþ me nouht : Ne þer-to haue I non onde,
ffor al þe godes þat mon haþ : Is of godes sonde.
God, þorw whom comeþ alle þing : Con ful good skile,
Alle worldes winne : He sendeþ, whon he wile.
Whi scholde I for monnes god haue sorinesse,
Whon I haue for him neuer þe lesse?
God deleþ his dole : To pore and to riche,

338

And ȝiueþ wit and auhte : But not alle I-lyche.
Whon he haþ I-ȝiuen his þing : As Ichaue I-seyd,
Vche mon of his del : Schulde holde him paid;
No mon schulde grucchen : Of oþeres wel-fare,
And ȝif he doþ, for soþe : He mispayeþ god þare.
ffor god wol ȝiue : To whom his wille is.
Whose haþ envye þer-to : ffor soþe, he nis not wys.”
Þe false schrewe onswerde þore
And bad hym sigge so nomore.
“Þou spekest of wraþþe in þi tale
And seist hit is aȝeyn soule-hale.
Þat is not soþ, but falshede;
Wraþþe was neuere synful dede.
Ȝif eny mon a-gult aȝeynes þe,
Smyteþ or elles puiteþ þe,
Oþer seiþ þat þe is him loþ:
Ne most þou þenne nedes be wroþ?
Ȝif Mon mis-seiþ þe or deþ þe schame:
Ȝif þou be wroþ, ho schal þe blame?
As he doþ bi þe, niȝt and day,
Quit him wel, ȝif þat þou may;
Ȝif þou mowe, worse; in eny wyse
Loke þou ȝelde him his seruyse;
Ȝif þou forberest O bisemare,
He wol ȝiue þe two ful ȝare.
Aȝeyn o word sei þou two
And mak him wroþ, ar þou go,
And spek wiþ hym baldeliche
And mis-seye hym schomefulliche!
Ȝif eny Mon þe mis-deþ,
Smyt þyn hond vnder his teþ,
Wiþ Swerd, Knyf, Staf or Ston
Lei on faste, and þat anon,
And bet him wel wiþ þe beste,
Þat his teþ al to-breste;
Or on þe hed ponne hard,
Þat he go wryȝinge þenneward.
Ȝif he is strong or of miht heiȝ,
Þat þou ne miht comen hym neiȝ,
Tac þe felawes þe by-syde:

339

Þe hardiloker maiȝt þou abyde,
And go sech him be wei and strete,
Stint þou nouȝt til þou him mete,
Lei on faste, spare no-þing,
To grounde sone þou him bryng,
Þat he þerfore grunte and grone;
And warne al oþere bi him one!
Þen may þi word springe ariht
Þat þou art hardi mon and wiht;
Alle men of þe þenne schule be fert
Þat bifore wolde mis-seye þe in þi bert;
Þenne miȝt þou go boþe quit and sker
Wher þou wolt, fer and neer.”

Þe goode mon wel vnderstood
Þat his counseil was not good.
“Ȝif I be wroþ and sore agreued : Wiþ eny Mon alyue,
Ich ouȝte seche pees of hym : fful hastiliche and blyue.
Mi Pater noster ne my crede : Ne myn Aue Marie biddynge,
Whyle ich am in wraþþe : Avayleþ me no-þhynge.
Ȝif Mon be wroþ, hym is þe wors : And þat on mony syde—
Þat schul ȝe wite þat hit is soþ : Ȝif ȝe wolleþ abyde:
Wraþþe and vuel wordes : Old sore neweþ,
And makeþ to do þe dede : Þat eft ful sore reweþ.
Wraþþe is a wikked þing : Hit mengeþ þe herte blod
And makeþ mon ofte out of wit : Þat he con no good,
He makeþ mon ofte do þe dede : Þat eft torneþ to grame,
Bete Men and ofte sle : And do ful muche schame,
Wounde men and berne men : Robben and to-reuen;
And euere are þei in serwe and wo : A-Morwen and at Euen.
Whon he is wel a-wreken : Aftur his wille,
Þen he is wel apayed : And goþ forþ wel stille,
He weneþ to here þer-of : No more tiþinge:
Bote þe synne þer-after : Schal him to schome brynge;
Ne schal he him no-wyse : So wel him schilde,
Þat he (!) ne schal for þe synne : Sum schome be-tyde,
But hit beo þorw schrift : And þe prestes rede

340

Þat þe synne be bet : And a-Mended þe deede.
Þe heiȝe kyng of heuene : Is riȝtful Iustise,
Alle folk schal he deme : Boþe foles and wyse;
He haþ set his lawes—: No-Mon scholde hem breke,
Þat no-mon in his wraþþe : Scholde him-self wreke.—

Ȝit on oþur wyse ofte mon is wroþ
And seiþ to his broþur þing þat him is loþ.
Þe wysore of hem two : Þen schal holde him stille
And suffre þe more fol : Siggen al his wille.
ffor he þat chydeþ al-one : Hit wol sone awey fare,
Hit wol not longe lasten : Wiþ-outen onsware;
Whon he haþ al seid : Þat he sigge wile,
He wol ben in pes : And cunne þe more skile,
And [bid] for-ȝiuen his wraþþe : Þauȝ þei duden ille,
And connen his felawe more þonk : ffor he heold him stille.
Ȝif eny wikked wordes or dedes : Bi-fore weren I-wrouht,
Þei schul þenne þorw wraþþe : Ben al out I-brouht;
Al þe worste þat þei cunne : Þenne wol þei speke,
And dele grete strokes : ffor to ben a-wreke.
Her-of is I-writen a word þat is couþ:
‘He kepeþ a feir castel þat kepeþ wel his Mouþ.’”

Þe wikked schrewe onswerde þon
Þus to þe gode mon:
“Ne forbed he neuere : Þat I þe plihte,
Mon to be riche : Ȝif he miht:
Hou miȝte men on e[n]y wyse
Be riche wiþ-outen couetyse?
Þe riche Mon, wher he is,
Holden is boþe ȝep and wys,
fforþ I-cald and muchel of told,
ffor he haþ good mony-fold;
He is holden of muche pris,
And al for good þat is his.
Þe pore Mon al þat schal misse;
Haþ he non such worldes blisse;
His Meeles are ofte lene—
Luitel hit helpeþ, þauȝ he him mene—
His Robes are badde and þinne,

341

Luitel he haþ of worldes wynne.
Purueye þe wel on vche a syde,
Þat such teone þe ne be-tyde!
Ȝif þou ne const, I wol þe teche
Hou þou schalt good to þe reche
And riche mon bi-come and wlouh
And haue of alle goodes I-nouh,
And wiþ-outen eny synne
Geten I-nouȝ of worldes wynne.
Beo peny pound bi-twene two
Þou maiȝt gedere mo and mo,
Al wiþ queyntise and wiþ ginne
Muche good maiȝt þou wynne.
Slep þou nouȝt to muche a-niht,
But win þe good, hou þou miht;
Ren a-boute bi þe strete,
Bi wey and bi weonlete;
Ȝif þou seost in eny wyse
Wher eny bi-ȝete wol aryse,
Tac sum, and lef I-nouh—
Þouȝ þou do so, hit nis no wouh;
Haue þou no doute, I rede, of þas,
No mon wot ho hit was.
Þauh Mon make muche fare,
Þer-of haue þou no care,
Ne dred no-þing þe prestes curs—
Þerfore þou schalt neuere be þe wors.
Ne spare non, þer þou gest,
Nouþer þe parsun ne þe prest;
Tac þe part of heore tyþinge
And bere hit hom to þi wonynge.
And so þou miȝt muche good take
And be riche monnes make.
Whon þou hast þus wel bi-gonne
And muche good hast I-wonne,
Þat þou hast, kep hit wel,
Þerof ȝif þou neuer a del;
But men bringe two for on,
Ȝiue hem not, but let hem gon!
Þer wol come to þin hous

342

Mony on ful coueytous,
ffor to haue of þi þinge,
To bere a-wei, and nouȝt to brynge:—
So wole þei don eft-sone;
Let hem gon riht as þei come;
Let hem seche heor owne biȝete
As þou dudest, or elles lete;
Let hem fare neer and ferre
And for þe neuer be þe nerre!”

Þe gode mon wel vnderstod
Þat at oþur seide was not good.
“Couetyse is not good : ffor hit is forbode,
So seiþ þe prest on his bok : Þorw biddyng of gode.
Men mowe wel be riche : Whose hit may wynne
Wiþ rihte & wiþ treuþe : And wiþ-outen synne;
Wiþ trewe craft and Marchaundise : Wel wynnen he may,
But Robbe ne to-reue : Nouþer niht ne day.
Mony on wiþ falsnesse : And wiþ Oker also
Haþ so muche good : Þat he not wher hit do;
Þat may ben here his heuene—: At his endynge
In to þe put of helle : Sone hit wole hym bringe.
Ȝif Mon haþ eny þing : Bi-gete wiþ trewenesse
Of worldliche good : More oþer lesse,
Tac to his nedfulnesse : Þer-of what he wile,
And do to holi chirche : Þat riht wole and skile:
Of al þat neweþ him be ȝere : Do his tiþinge,
And foure tyme in þe ȝere : Ȝif his Offringe;
Þe pore schal he helpe : Also, þat haþ nede,
Ȝif hem mete and drinke : And cloþe hem wiþ wede.
Hose wol not tiþe : Þat god him haþ I-lent,
His lyf and his soule : Boþe schul be schent;
He schal for þe synne : Haue Godes curs,
And eke alle his goodes : Schul fare wel þe wors;
His godes schulen at-falle : And faste a-wey go,
And for þat ilke synne : Mony on haueþ wo.
Þat is in toune and felde : Seene, sikerli,
Þat fewe aren in londe : Þat liuen rihtfuli:

Þe eorþe ȝeldeþ not fruit : As hit wont was,
Of Corn of þe feld : Ne of þe Medewe Gras,

343

Ne non oþer-cunne fruit : Þe folk for to frore—
I-wis, hit is for synne : Þat mony Mon is pore.—
Haue þou neuer so muche : Of worldes good here,
Al schal passen a-wey : As fantum hit were.
ffor to haue þin herte : To muche þer-Inne,
Of þi mok to make þi god : Hit is dedly synne.
And ȝit, ar þow war be : ffrom þe wol hit fare,
Þenne schalt þou haue þerfore : Boþe serwe and care,
And ȝit at þin ende : Gret stryf in cas,
And puite þe out : Of al þat þin was;
Þin Executours schul take : Þi goodes at heore wille
And lete þi soule ligge : In pyne ful stille.
Beo þou in þi put i-brouȝt : Wormes schul eten þe,
And sone schalt þou be for-ȝeten : Siker mayȝt þou be.
Þerfore I rede, as Salamon his sone bad,
Þat vche Mon skilfuli of his god mak him glad,
Mete and drynke and cloþ : Catel and oþer þyng
Þat nedful is to haue : Wiþ-outen wastyng;
Þe pore schal he helpe : Wher þat is nede,
Of þat god haþ him sent : Don his Almes-dede,
Ȝif him mete and drynk : And cloþe him wiþ wede—
In al þi werkes, be þe syker : Þe better schalt þou spede;
Ȝif him of þi Cuppe : Of þat is þer-in,
Water to drynke : Ale oþer Wyn;
And ȝif he haþ nede : Clepe him þe neer
And make him sitte & warme him : Bi þyn hote fuyr;
Bedde hym esyliche : Ȝif þat he seek be,
And serue him wel, for his loue : Þat al haþ ȝeuen þe.

Worldes wele is wonderful : Wel may I seyn,
Lyk þe se þat floweþ : And ebbeþ a-ȝeyn;
Þer nis no sikernesse : In þis worldes won,
No-mon not whon hit wole : A-wei from him gon,
Ne how longe hit wol laste : Ne how luytel while—
Þulke þat hit loueþ most : Ofte hit doþ hem gyle.

He þat loueþ catel wel : And bounden is in Couetyse,
He schal ben I-bounden : In þreo-kynne wyse:
Þouȝt and drede are þe two : Þat schul bynden hym faste,
Þe þridde is muche serwe : Þat euermore schal laste.

344

Ofte for his catel : Mon moot wake of slepe,
Trauaylen in reyn and in snowh : Beo þe weyes neuer so depe,
ffrom toune to toune : Boþe fer and neer,
As Chapmen mote don : To heore mesteer;
Ouer þe salte séé ofte þei fare
ffor heor Marchaundise, in gret peril and care,
And ofte and mony a tyme : [leseþ] Catel and heore lyf
And makeþ vuel to fare : Boþe Chyld and Wyf.

Oþer Men dyke and delue : And gon to þe plouh,
To Cart and to þreschynge : And oþur swynk I-nouh.
Whon he wiþ his swynk : Haþ wonne gret be-ȝete,
Euere he is afert : Þat he schal hit forleete;
And ȝif he hit leten schal : Hym is wo þerfore,
And is so sori þenne : þat euer was he bore.
Þouȝt and drede & sorinesse : Aren Monnes fo—
He ouȝte neuere loue : Þing þat doþ hym so wo.

Ȝif he leose eny þing : And he gret good con,
Beo-þenk hym of Iob : Þat was a good mon:
He hedde of alle richesses : Swiþe muche won
And in a luytel while : He nedde riht non;

Þo he hedde riht nouȝt : But al was a-go,
Ne seide he for his harm : Enes ‘me is wo,’
But louede God wel : And þonkede hym þon—
He dude as þe wyse : So schulde eueri mon;—
Nolde he not for his los : Noþing sori be,
‘God,’ he seide, ‘hit me ȝaf : And bi-raft hit me;’
Ne grucched he nouȝt, but þonked godes sonde
And seide ‘blesset be his nome, in water & in londe.’”

Þe wikked gost onswerde þon
And seide þat he was a folted mon.
“Þou spekest of Lecherie
And of fewe wordes makest monye;
ffalse wordes wolt þou leeue & here hem gladli—
Þou nost what þou menest, i sigge þe sikerli!
Of luytel wit hastou Mynde:
Ne mot a Mon don his kynde?
Hit was ordeynd þorw Godes biddyng
At þe worldes be-gynnyng.

345

Beo þi tale þow woldest hit bringe
Al to-gedere in to spousynge
Or elles leue þat game,
Þat me nedde of God blame.
Whose aftur þi counseil doþ,
Repente him schal, I sei for soþ:
He þat takeþ hym to spousyng,
Mai not lyuen for no þing,
Bote holden he mot to his wyf
And ben in Cuntek and in stryf—
Betere him were dihte and go—
ffor weddyng is þe longe wo.
Whon he haþ a wyf I-take,
He mai hire nouȝt forsake;
He þat haþ a schrewe to wyue,
Of vche a day him þinkeþ fyue;
Of muche Murþe he schal misse
And euere ha serwe and neuer blisse,
Þer anoþer mai leue and take
Wher he wole, and eke forsake;
Lihtliche and glad may he go,
Whon he þat is bounden schal be ful wo,
And be liht and Iolyf
More þen on þat haþ a wyf.
ffor-þi I rede þat men do so
And lete weddynge a-wey go.”

Þe goode Mon wel vnderstod
Þat his counseil was not good.
“He is a fol and noþing wys : Þat foleweþ þi Red:
Þe Mon þat foleweþ his flesches lust : His soule schal be ded;
But ȝif he do kuyndely : And wiþ spoused fere,
In helle he schal a-buggen : His flessches lyking here.
Þer beoþ þorw godes lawen : Ten Comaundemens,
Þat vche mon ouȝte kepe : Elles he brekeþ his defens;
Spous-bruche, forsoþe : Is þe grettest of alle—
Þo þat aren I-weddet, kep hem wel : Þat þei þer-Inne ne falle;
He þat wol folewen his flessches lust : And þe lawe breke,

346

Ne þinke him no wonder þenne : þauȝ god on hym a-wreke.
Mon in Godes lawe : Mai wel haue a Make,
To do wiþ hire his wille : ffor childberynge sake,
And louen eiþer oþer : Whon tyme is and leue,
And holden hem wel to-gedere : As Adam dude and Eue.
But hit beo in wedlac : In alle wyse lef þat game
And liue in chastite : And be wiþ-outen blame!
Gret schome hit is and synne : I swere þe be heuene,
To spende þi fyue wittes : In eny of þe synnes seuene,
Þat God þe haþ I-ȝiuen : And þine lymes alle,
ffor to kepe þe wiþ : In synne þat þou ne falle.
A foul chaunge hit is, forsoþe : And a gret vuel,
To chaunge heuene for helle : And God for þe deuel;
Þat dostou, as ofte as þou syngest dedli
And brekest godus comaundemens & dost a gret foli;
Þe deueles þral þou be-comest : Whon þou dost þi miht
To foule þi clene soule : Bi daye or be niht . . .
Niht and day he studieþ : And casteþ his gynne
How he may bi alle weyes : A wommons loue wynne;
Nil he neuer stunten : He swereþ his oþ,
Ar he haue his wille i-don : Be god neuer so wroþ.
And heo wol haue him, heo seiþ : Euermore to dwelle,
Raþer þen heo hym for-go : Ben in þe put of helle.
But wusten heo what hit were : Þe leste pyne þer-Inne,
ffor al þe good in eorþe : þei nolde don dedly synne!
ffor þei nolde not be war : Er þei coome þare,
In pyne schul þei euer be : In serwe and in care.

Þo þat aren gode : Liuen in muche wynne;
Þe gode gon a Godeshalf : Þe deueles limes to synne.
Whon þei comen to-gedere : Eiþer on oþer wynkeþ;
Þat þei ne hedde heor synne i-do : Longe þer-to hem þinkeþ;
Whon þei seo heore tyme : Wol þei not longe dwelle,
Bote þei do þe dede : Þat echeþ þe fuir of helle.

Þe fuir þat is in helle : Is euer Brennynge,
Þe synful wrecche soules : Þer-Inne pynynge;
Þe Mo þat are þer-Inne : Þe hattore is þe lye,
And þe pyne hardore : Þat þe soules drye.

347

Heo beoþ grete foles : ffor soþe I sigge, I-wis,
Þat makeþ þe pyne more : And hattore þen hit is.
Þulke þat brekeþ godes word : Þorw heor dedly synne,
Þei lihten þe fuir : Þat þei schulen brennen Inne.
Godes Comaundement þei breke : Al þat doþ lecherie:
In helle-fuir schul þei euer be : Heore peynes to drie.”

Þe wikkede gost onswerede þo
And seide þat hit was not so.
“So þou seist as false men do:
Þat Sleuþe is synne, and is not so.
Men mot haue, ȝif þei may,
Ese and reste, niȝt and day,
In Bedde, in Mete beo al at his ese
And mak þe bodi euer wel at ese.
After þi deþ wost þou not what,
What þou schalt haue, þenk wel on þat!
While þou miȝt, make þe glad and muri!
Lengor liueþ a glad mon þen a sori.
Al knowe I wel þi resun
And what be-tokneþ þi lessun:
ffor Men scholde to chirche gonge,
To here Matins, Masse, and Euensonge,
Heore pater noster to sigge, Aue Marie, & Crede,
And ete of prestes holy brede.
What, wenest þou for such þing
Þi soule in to heuene bring?
Ho bi-gon furst to worche,
And whi was maad, holichirche?
Of Prestes couetise hit was biþouht
Þat churche was furst I-wrouht,
ffor he wolde haue offryng
And liue bi oþur mennes þing.

He wole a-Morwe Belle rynge,
And þenne wol he Matyns synge;
And ȝif þer luite folk comeþ þerto,
He wol hiȝe faste and haue I-do;

And ȝif þer muche folk come, I sigge þe,
He wol make gret solempnite:
Reuesten him þenne wole he wel
Wiþ riche pal and sendel,

348

He wol don on his canter-cope
And gon as he were a Pope;

Siþen he wole wiþ springel-stikke
Ȝiuen holy water a-bouten þikke,
And syngen loude wiþ schil þrote,
And seiþ hit is þe soule note
Þat þe prest seiþ and doþ—
Þe folk weneþ þat hit be soþ;

Bi-fore his Auter he wol stonden
And holde vp an heiȝ boþe his honden,
He wol synge mony a þrowe,
Sum-time heiȝe & sum-time lowe,
He wole him turne & take good hede
Ȝif eny Mon him bringe mede.
Ȝif muche folk come and þringe
Offringe faste him to brynge,
He wole amende faste his song—
Þat tyme þinkeþ him not long.
And whon þei wole him no-þing brynge,
Lust him no-þing for to synge,
ffaste he hiȝeþ hym to spede
And ȝiueþ hem of his holy brede—
Þat is þe beste of al his dede,
ffor hit helpeþ to monnes nede;
Þauȝ hit be luytel, hit turneþ to gode,
ffor hit helpeþ to Monnes foode.
Whon he haþ al I-do,
He ȝiueþ heom leue and let hem go;

But euer a-Mong al oþur nede
His oune erende wol he bede,
Þat þei brynge heore offrynges
To Chirche, and heore tyþinges.
Wel þou wost þat þis is soþ:
Al for his owne gode he hit doþ;
Kepeþ he nouȝt of heore comynge,
But ȝif þei wole him eni good bringe.—
But, ȝif þou wolt on eny wyse
At Chirche here þi seruyse,
A-tome þou maiȝt ful wel abyde
Til he haue seid þe laste tyde;

349

And ȝit maiȝt þou lengore dwelle
And come be tyme to þe gospelle;
A-tome maiȝt þow do good nede
And come to þe Masse crede;
And ȝif þe luste riȝt wel slope,
Cum whon he doþ of his Masse-cope;
And þeiȝ þou ne come, ne ȝif no tale,
Til he halibred be-ginne to dale:
Þenne maiȝt þou ben al ȝare,
And hom wiþ þi neiȝebors fare.”

Þe goode Mon wel vnderstod
Þat his techynge was not good.
“Al þat þou spekest hit is nouȝt : Þow miȝtest wel be stille,
Al þat þe bodi lykeþ wel : Is aȝeyn þe soule wille.
Ese and reste and muri lyf : Men lykeþ wel and wymmenne,
But þei brynge þe soule in strif : Aȝeyn þei wenden henne.

Þe bodi and þe soule beþ : Wel neih euere wroþ:
ffor þat þe bodi lykeþ wel : Is to þe soule loþ.
Muche tale þou makest : Þe foule bodi to queme,
But of þe seli soule : Takest þow no ȝeme.
Aftur þat þe bodi doþ : Schal þe soule fynde
And in peyne or in Ioye : Euere þerof haue mynde.
Ȝif Men loue to slepe : Whon þei scholden wake,
Þenne schal þe soule : In stude of Ioye haue wrake.
Monnes lyf nis bote schort : Sone wol hit go,
Bote þe sely soule : Duyreþ euer-mo;
Þe soule schal faren his wey : Þe bodi schal a-byde
And not nouȝt of þe soule : What hit schal be-tyde.
But wel I wot, and soþ hit is : After monnes dede,
Whon he is forþ faren : He schal hauen his mede:
Ȝif he haue loued god : And kept his biddynge,
Þe blisse of heuene schal he haue : Wiþ-outen endynge;
Ouþur in to peyne schal he be brouȝt,
Ȝif he haue þer-aftur wrouȝt.—
Þerfore is ned on alle wyse
Men to go to Godes seruyse
And wake þe more and slepe þe lasse,

350

To here Matyns, Euensong, and Masse.
Whon men han aȝeyn god : In dedly synne falle,
Heo ouȝten for to wepe : And Merci to God calle,
And wenden to þe prest : Hastiliche and sone
And tellen him in schrif : What synne he haþ i-done.
A fool he is þat a-bydeþ : Eny gret stounde,
Til þer come more sor : And cleue to þe wounde.
Also hit fareþ bi synne : I wot wiþ-outen wene,
As doþ be þe wounde : While hit is newe and grene.
Þe leche clanseþ þe wounde : Clene in þe ground
And leiþ salue a-boue : And makeþ hit hol and sound;
Mon may for a wounde : Or for a luitel sor,
Bote hit be sone I-heled : Be worse and wel mor:
Ȝif o sor come to anoþer : Þenne are þer two,
And ȝif he longe a-byde : Þen wol þer be mo;
His owne bone mai hit be : Longe for to abyde—
Þerfore I rede, sech leche-craft : Soone, what be-tyde.
Also hit fareþ bi synne : Ȝif hit I-hud is;
Bote hit be to þe prest : Soone I-told, I-wis,
Hit draweþ hem to helle-grounde : And byndeþ hem to peynes stronge;
Þe hardore peyne schal he haue : Ȝif he þer-Inne ligge longe.
Þe lengor þat men a-byde : Þe latere comeþ bote;
Þei stonde wel þe fastore : Whon þei haue take rote.
Þauȝ Men fallen in synne : Gret wonder hit nis;
But ligge stille þer-Inne : Þat is wonder gret, I-wis!
Ȝif þow liggest in þe fuir : And brennest on eny wyse,
Who is for to wyte : Þi-self wolt nouȝt arise?
Mynde haþ he non : Of God þat hym wrouhte
And on þe Roode-tre : Wiþ his passion him bouhte.
Wel hit is I-seene : Þat þei are ful slowe
Þat to þe prest nil not : Heore synnes ben a-knowe,
And luytel þonk þei cunne god : ffor his goode seruyse,
Whon þei wole not for his loue : Out of synne aryse.
Þinke no mon wonder : Þauh god wiþ hem be wroþ
And take vengeaunce on hem : Beo hem neuer so loþ!
Schriueþ ow be-tyme : ffor loue or for feer,
ffor God takeþ wreche : Heer or elleswher;
Bi-weopeþ ȝoure synnes : And criȝeþ God Merci,

351

And to alle his werkes : Beoþ euere redi!
Whon hit is halyday : Vche Mon ouhte wiþ rihte
To heere his seruyse in chirche : Ȝif he on eny wyse mihte,
And not in sleuþe ligge, : In bed a-tome abyde
Til þe prest haue I-seid : Þe laste non-tyde.
Ȝif þou go at morwe : And Matyns here erliche,
Hit is þe soule profyt : I sigge þe sikerliche;
Þeih þi flesch grucche : Lette nouht þerfore—
Þe ofter þow ouercomest hit : Þi Meede schal beo þe more;
Ȝif þow herest Matyns and Masse : And takest haly brede,
To Bodi and to soule : Þow wynnest muchel Mede.

After Mete loke þou go to þe prechynge,
Ȝif eny beo in toune—lette for no þynge—
And þat þe prechur precheþ : Vnderstonde hit wel,
And do as he þe techeþ : I rede þe, vche a del.

Ȝif þer no prechyng be : Go visyte þe seke,
Cumforte hem wiþ þin Almes : And wiþ þi wordes Meke.

Aftur, whon þei rynge : Go to Euen-song,
And lette for no cumpaignye : Þat þow art aMong;
Ȝif þow do not, for soþe : Þou dost þe deueles wille,
Whon þou in ganglyng and drynkyng : Dwellest wiþ hem stille.

Whon Euensong & cumplyn boþe ben ido,
Hom to þi soper þen wel maiȝt þou go.
I rede þenne, ar þow go : ffulliche in to þi bed,
Þonke crist of þat day : Þat þow hast wel I-sped;
And ȝif þou ouȝt hast mis-done,
Aske him merci, I rede, sone;
Be-teche þi lyf and þi soule : To God Almihti:
And þenne maiȝt þou slepe : wel and sikerly.

Whon þow risest vp, þonke god : Inwardliche wiþ al þi miht,
Þat þe haþ saued from encumbrement : Of þe ffend þat niht;
Be-teche al in godes hond : Þi preyers and þi dedes,
Þi wittes and þi willes : And al þyn oþer nedes.

352

Avise þe in al þi werkes : Þow saue þe from dedli synne,
And do as I counseyle þe : And heuene schalt þou winne.

In what werk, Mon, þat þou be : worche euer trewli,
Or þou schalt haue peine þerfore : Ȝif þou worche falsli;

Ȝif þow take here þi fulle huyre : And dost not fulliche þi werk þerfore,
In helle or in purgatorie : Þi peyne schal be wel þe more.
Of what condicion so þou art : Trewe in alle þing þou be,
And do so to vche mon : As þou woldest he dude to þe;
And loke in al þat þou seist & dost : Þat God be euere apayd,
And lef sleuþe & al oþer synnes : As Ich haue I-seid!”

Þe wikked gost onswerde þon
And seide : “þou art a Mad mon!
Þauȝ þou woldest now be-ginne
And sigge þat glotenye were sinne,
Beter þe were þi Ianglyng lete.
Men scholde dye, ȝif þei ne ete,
And bote þei drinke wel, also;
No Mon mai liue wiþ-outen hem two.
To Badde counseil art þou euer ȝare,
To ffastyng and to vuel fare.
What good comeþ of fastyng?
ffeyntyse, Idelnesse, & non oþur þing.
Þat maiȝt þow wel wite be skil.
Whon þe flesch haþ Mete & drinke at wil,
Þen is he redi to fihte and chide
Wiþ alle þo þat gon and ride.
Ho mai duire for to swynke,
But ȝif he ete wel and drinke?
Hunger makeþ men beo bi-hynde
In vche a werk, as I fynde.
Gode drinkes & Metes wel I-diht
Are wel I-loued, and þat is riht.
Ȝif he beo a stout sweyn,
He eteþ til hit come vp aȝeyn.
Al-þauh hit be so þat he caste—
So he mihte, þauh he faste—

353

Hit nis for no dronkenesse,
But for oþer seknesse.
Whon he is heled of þat sore,
He may ete and drinke more,
And make glad and bliþe chere—
ffor euere is ale and wyn good fere.
Et faste and drink wel : And sleep euere a-mong:
And þenne mayht þow lyue : Ȝeres monye and long.”

Þe gode Mon, þat in god was stable,
Vnderstod, þat he seide, was fable.
“Wel I wot þat men mote liue : Be Mete and be drynk,
As skile is and resun : And Mesure in alle þyng.
Þei þat liuen as beestes : Aren wiþ-outen lay,
Þat erliche eteþ and drynkeþ : And holdeþ on al day.
Þe beest doþ his kynde : And þe glotun synne
Doþ aȝeyn his kynde : Þat wol neuer blynne.
Suche foule glotounes : Doþ a-ȝeyn þe lawe.
Ar þe wombe be ful : Beo þei neuer fawe;

Þenne wol þei chiden and fiȝten also—
Serwe on heore hedes, but þei wel do!
Mete and drynke is ȝiuen to mon : As salue to sore,
Þat neodful is to take þerof : And neuere a del more.
Ȝif þow to muche salue : Leyst to þi sar,
Hit wol beo þi deþ : Bote þow sone be war;
So wol hit of Mete & of drinke be:
Þi soule bone, ȝif þou take mor þen nedeþ þe.
Whon mon haþ at Meel-tyme : Such as he wile,
Tak þat he haþ neode of : Be Mesure and bi skile,
And parte wiþ þe pore : Of þat is on [his] bord,
And not in his wombe : Make al his hord—
ffor þer is foul tresorie : And al ful of stinke.
Al þat þou takest mor þen neod is : In peyne þou schalt of-þinke.
In þe Bok of priuetes : Glotons are Manased so:
‘Aȝeyn O drauȝt þei drinke ouer-muche : Þei schul han þre or two
Of hot led and walled bras. : Þei schul beo ful wo,
ffor stynkyng brumston and for pich : Þat in heore þrotes schal go.’
Þus seide þe prest þat god wol take wreche,

354

But ȝif ȝe leue synne and do as I ow teche.”

Þe wikkede gost, þer he stood,
Wox for wraþþe wel-neiȝ wood,
ffor he was ouer-comen and be-hynde—
ffor mo onsweres couþe he not fynde.
Þe gode Mon þenne was a-bascht
And lokede on þe wikkede gast
And seide: “now wot I, þow art non
Mon mad of flesch and bon;
I vnderstonde wel be þi spelle
Þat þou art þe deuel of helle.
I þe Comaunde, foule þing,
In þe nome of heuene kyng,
Þat þow me noþing drecche,
But bi-cum now, foule wrecche,
As foul as þou were
In helle wiþ þi feere.”

Ne mihte he no lengure a-byde,
Bote bi-com þo also-tyde
ffoul as helle-Sathanas,
As Blac as eny pich he was—
How foul he was con I not telle,
But foul he stonk as stunch of helle.

Þe gode mon blessed him wiþ þe Crois
And criȝed on God wiþ loud vois,
Bi-fore, be-hynde he blessed him fast,
And Comaundede þat sori gast
ffor to wenden : and so he dude þo,
To þat stude þat he com fro.
Pouwer hedde he no lengore dwelle,
But wente doun riht in to helle.

Þe gode Mon wente hom his way,
And serued god wel to pay,
And þonked him—so ouhte he wel—
Þat him sauede from þe deuel.

Ihesu Crist such grace vs sende
Hym to serue to vre lyues ende,
And kep vs from þe synnes seuene,
And graunt vs alle þe blisse of heuene!

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

I. PART I.

I. La estorie del Euangelie.

[A FRAGMENT.]

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

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

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

VII. [Of a prest þat lay by a nonne.]

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

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

XXX. De festo corporis cristi.

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

De manu sacerdotis per hostiam penetrata.

XXXI. Septem miracula de corpore cristi.

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.

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.]

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.