 | [Poems from the Vernon MS] |  |
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.
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.
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;
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.
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
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.—
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,
Þat to his blisse he take vs to
Þat is and schal ben euer-mo.
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 is and schal ben euer-mo.
Amen.
| [Poems from the Vernon MS] | |