Lydgate's Minor Poems The Two Nightingale Poems. Edited from the mss. with introduction, notes and glossary by Otto Glauning |
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| I. |
| II. | II. A Sayenge of the Nyghtyngale.
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 | Lydgate's Minor Poems |  |
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II. A Sayenge of the Nyghtyngale.
1
In June, whan Titan was in Crabbes hede,Towardes Even the Saphyre-huwed sky
Was westward meynt with many Rowes Rede,
And fowlis syngen [in] theyr melody
An hevenly complyne with sugred Armonye,
As that hem nature taught[e] for the best:
They gan hem proygne and drough hem to theyr Rest—
2
That sith the tyme, forsoth, that j was borne,Hadde j nat herd suche song in downe nor daale—
And alle were gone, sauf vpon a thorne
The same tyme j herd a nyghtyngale,
So as j lay pensyf in a vale
To herken the meanyng of hir melody,
Whos hertly refreyd was euer: “Occy, occy.”
3
She ment, I trowe, with hir notes nuweAnd in hir ledne, Venus to take vengeaunce
On false lovers whiche that bien vntriewe,
Ay ful of chaunge and of variaunce,
And can in oone to have no plesaunce.
This bridde ay song: “O sle theym, lady myn,
Withouten mercy and bryng hem to theyr fyn,
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4
To shewe ensample, that other may wele knoweHow that they shal in theyr trowth abyde!
For parde, lady, yit thy sones bowe
Nys nat broke, whiche callid is Cupide.
Let hym marke them and wounde hem in the side
Withouten mercye or any remedye,
Where-so that he suche falsehede can espye.
5
And suche as bien for love langwisshyng,Cherrissh hem, lady, for trewe affectioun,
Support and help hem with thy myght to bryng
In-to thi Castell, sette in Citheron:
On dyamaundes sette is the Dungeoun,
Fret with Rubyes and Emerawdes grene.
Now herkne my song, that art of love the qwene!”
6
And as I lay, and herde hir twnes cliere,And on hir notes me gretely gan delite,
Vpon the Eve the sterris dide appere,
The bawmy vapour of grassis gan vp-smyte
In-to myn hede of floures Rede and white,
That with the odour, or that I toke kepe,
I fille anon in-to a dedly sleepe.
7
And than me sempte that from the god of loveTo me was sent an vnkouth messangier—
Nought from Cupide, but fro the lord above—
And, as me thought, ful fayre and fressh of chiere,
Whiche to me sayde: ‘Foole, what dostow here
Slepyng allone, gapyng vpon the mone?
Rise, folowe me, [and] thow shalt se right sone
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8
An vnkowth sight, If thow list to speede.The briddes song I shal to the vnclose,
For trust me wele, I cast the nat to leede
Nothyng towardes the gardyn of the Rose,
And I thi spirit shal otherwise dispose,
For to declare the briddis song: “Occy,”
And what she meanyth in sentence triew[e]ly.
9
Thyn aduertence is gouerned wrongTowchyng the twnes thow herdest here to-forne:
“Occy, occy,” this was the briddis song,
Whiche many a lover hath thurgh foly lorne.
But thynk among vpon the sharp[e] thorne
Whiche priked hir brest with fyry remembraunce,
Lovers in vertu to encres and avaunce.
10
This briddis song, whiche we have on honde—Who that takith the moralite—
Betokenyth, playnly for to vndrestonde,
The grete fraunchise, the grete liberte,
Whiche shuld in love be so pure and fre,
Of triewe meanyng Rooted so withynne,
Fer from the conceyte of any maner synne.
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Takestow none heede, how this bridde so smalSyngeth as that she wold hir-self dismembre,
Streyneth hir throte, peyneth hir brest at al,
Shakith and qwakyth in euery Ioynt and membre?
O man vnkynde, why dostow nat Remembre
Among in hert vnto this briddes song?
If thow advert,—thow dost to god grete wrong.
12
Thow art desseued in thyn oppyniounAnd al awrong also thow dost goo,
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Thyn vndrestondyng, thy conceyt both[e] two.
This bridde, in soth, ne meanyth nothyng so:
For hir synggyng—who-so takith heede—
Nothyng Resownyth vnto flesshlyhede.
13
Towchyng: “Occy”—considre wele the woord!—This brid it song of Impacience,
Of Iniuries doo vnto the lord
And wrong grete to his magnificence
Of worldly folk thurgh theyr grete offence,
Whiche can-nat knowe for theyr reklesnes
The grete love, the grete kyndenesse
14
Whiche he shewed for theyr alre goode,Whan that he, yif they kowde adverte,
For theyr sake starf vpon the Roode
And with a spere was stongen thurgh the hert:
Who felt euer for love so grete a smert
As thilk[e] lord dide for mannes sake?
And yit, allas, non hede therof they take.
15
To pay the Raunsoun of oure grete losse,He was in love so gentil and so fre,
That hym deyned be nayled vpon the crosse
And liche a thief hang vpon a tre.
Lift vp thyn hert, vnkynd man, and see!
The nyghtyngale in hir armonye
Thus day and nyght doth vpon the crye.
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She cryeth: “Sle al tho that bien vnkyndeAnd can of love the custom nat observe,
Nor in theyr Ien no drope of pite fynde,
Nor in theyr brest, for love, no sigh conserve!
Why list the lord for mannes sake sterve
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His hert[e]-bloode, for theyr redempcioun?
17
His woundis fyve for man he did vnclose:Of handis, of feete, and of his faire side.
Make of these fyve in thyn hert a Rose
And lete it there contynuauly abyde;
Forgete hym nought, where thow go or ride,
Gadre on an hepe these rosen-floures fyve,
In thy memorye prynt hem al thy lyve:
18
This is the Rose whiche first gan wexen rede,Spreynt oueral with dropes of purpure hewe,
Whan Crist Ihesu was for mankynd dede
And had vpon a garnement ful newe:
His holy moder, his Cousyn eke, seynt Iohn,
Suche array to-fore saugh they neuer none,
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Whiche to behold, god wote, they were nat fayne:His blessyd body to seen so al to-Rent;
A Crowne of thorn, that thrilled thurgh his brayne;
And al the bloode of his body spent;
His hevenly Ien, Allas, deth hath I-blent;
Who myght, for Rowth, susteyne and behold
But that his hert of pite shuld cold!
20
This was the same whiche that IsayeSaugh fro Edom come, with his cloth depeynt,
Steyned in Bosra; eke dide hym aspye,
Bathed in bloode, til he gan woxen feynt;
This is he that drank galle and eysel Imeynt;
This is he that was afore Pilate atteynt
With false accusours in the consistorye,
Only to bryng mankynde to his glorye.
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He was most fayre founde in his stoole,Walkyng of vertues with most multitude,
Blessyd, benyngne, and hevenly of his stoole,
Whiche with his suffraunce Sathan [can] conclude.
His humble deth dide the devil delude,
Whan he mankynd brought out of prisoun,
Makyng his fynaunce with his passioun.
22
Isaye, the most renomed prophete,Axed of hym, why his garnement
Was rede and blody, ful of dropes wete—
So disguysed was his vestyment!—
Like hem that pressen quayers of entent
In the pressour, both the Rede and white—
So was he pressid thy Raunsoun for to qwyte!—
23
‘It is, quod he, that trade it al alone.Withouten felawe I gan the wyne out-presse,
Whan on the crosse I made a doleful mone
And thurgh myn hert the sperhed gan it dresse—
Who felt euer so passyng grete duresse!—
Whan al my friendis allone me forsoke
And I my-self this Iourney on me tooke.
24
Except my moder there durst none abideOf my disciples, for to suwen me.
Seynt Iohn, for love, stode on myn other side,
Alle the Remenaunt from me diden flee.
The Iewes my flessh asonder dide tee:
Who was it but I that bode in the vyne
To presse the wyne, thy Raunsoun for to fyne?
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For mannes sake with me ful hard it stoode:Forsaken of alle and eke disconsolate;
They left no drope, but d[r]ewe out al my bloode.
Was neuer none so poore in none estate!
Al my disciples left me desolate
Vpon the crosse betwene theves tweyne
And none abode to Rewe vpon my peyne.
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O ye al that passen bi the wey,Lift vp the Ie of yowre aduertence!
Sawe ye euer any man so deye
Withouten gilt, that neuer dide offence?
Or is there any sorwe in existence
Liche the sorwe that I dide endure,
To bye mankynde, vnkynde creature?
27
For the surfete of thy synnes alle,And for the offence of thy wittes fyve
My towche, my tast, myn heryng dide apalle,
Smellyng and sight ful fieble were als blyve.
Thus, in eche part that man can contryve,
I suffred peyne and in euery membre
That any man can reken or remembre.
28
Ageyne the synnes plainly of thyn heedeI had vpon a crowne of thornes kene,
Bitter teres were medled with my brede—
For mannes trespas I felt al the tene—
My Ien blynde, that whylom shoone so sheene,
But for man, in my thurst most felle,
I drank galle tempred with eyselle.
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For mannes lokyng fulfilled with outrage,And for his tunge ful of detractioun
I alone souffred the damage,
23
I drank galle poynaunt as poysoun;
Ageyn heringe of tales spoken in vayne
I had rebuke and sayde no word ageyne.
30
Geyn pride of beawte, where-as folkes trespas,I suffred my-self grete aduersite:
Beten and bonched in myn owne face;
Ageyns towchyng, if man list to se,
Myn handes were nayled fast vn-to the tre,
And for mysfotyng, where men went[e] wrong,
My feete thurgh-perced: Were nat my peynes strong?
31
Was it nat I that trespassed nought,That had myn hert perced even atweyne,
And neuer offendid oones in a thought,
Yit was it korve thurgh in euery veyne?
Who felt euer in erth so grete a peyne,
To Reken al, giltles as dide I?—
Wherfor this brid sang ay: “Occy, occy.”—
32
Suche as ben to me founde vnkyndeAnd have no mynd kyndly of resoun,
But of slowth have I-left behynde
The holy remembraunce of my passioun,
By meane of whiche and mediacioun
Ageyne al poysoun of the synnes seven
Triacle I brought, sent [them] downe from heven—
33
Ageyns pride, remembre my mekenesse;Geyne covetise, thynk on my pouerte;
Ageynst lecherye, thynk on my clennesse;
Agenst envye, thynk on my charite;
Agenst glotonye, aduerte in hert and se
24
Fourty dayes lyved in abstynence.’
34
“Of mekenesse he dide his [heued] enclyneAgenst the synne and the vice of pride;
Agenst envy, streyght out as a lyne,
Spradde his armes out on euery side,
[To enbrace his frendes and with them abyde,]
Shewyng hem signes, who so list to se:
Grounde of his peynes was perfite charite.
35
Agenst covetise mankynde to redresseThurgh-nayled weren his holy handis tweyne,
Shewyng of fredam his bountevous almesse,
Whan he for love suffred so grete peyne
To make mankynde his blisse to atteyne;
And his largesse to Rekene by and by,
I shal reherse his gyftes ceriously.
36
He gaf his body to man for chief repast,Restoratif best in the forme of brede,
At his maunde, or he hennys past;
His blessid bloode, in forme of wyne so Rede;
His soule in price, whan that he was dede;
And of oure synne as chief lauendere,
Out of his side he gaf vs water cliere.
37
He gaf also his purpure vestementTo the Iewis, that dide hym crucifie;
To his apostels he gaf also of entent
His blissed body, ded whan he dide lye;
And his moder, that clepid was Marie,—
The kepyng of hir he gaf to seynt Iohn;
And to his fader his gost, whan he was gon.
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38
Agenst slowth he shewed grete doctryne,Whan he hym hasted toward his passioun;
Agenst wrath this was his disciplyne,
Whan he was brought to examynacioun:
A soft Aunswere without rebellioun;
Agenst glotenye he drank eysel and galle,
To oppresse surfayte of vicious folkes alle.
39
He gaf also a ful grete remedyeTo mankynde, his sores for to sounde,
For, ageyne the hete of lecherye,
Mekely he suffred many a grevous wounde,
For none hole skynne was in his body founde,
Nor ther was seyn other apparaile,
But bloode, allas, aboute his sides rayle.
40
There he was sone and his faders heyre,With hym allone by the eternyte:
It was a thyng incomparable fayre,
The sone to dye, to make his seruaunt free,
Hym fraunchisyng with suche liberte,
To make man, that was thurgh synne thralle,
The court to enherite above celestial.
41
These kyndenesses, whiche I to the Reherse,Lete hym devoyde from the[e] oblyvioun
And lete the nayles, whiche thurgh his feete dide perce,
Be a cliere myrrour for thy redempcioun;
Enarme thy-self for thy proteccioun,
Whan that the feendis list ageyn the stryve,
With the Carectes of his wondes fyve.
42
Agenst theyr malice be strong and wele ware,Al of his crosse Reyse vp the banner
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To make the strong agenst theyr daungier;
Whiche whan they seen, they dare com no nere,
For trust wele, his crosse is best defence
Agenst the power of fiendes violence.
43
It is the palme, as clerkis can wele telle,To man in erth to conquest and victorye;
It is the tre, whiche that Danyell
Sawe sprad so broode, as made is memorye;
The key of heven, to bryng men to glorye;
The staf of Iacob, causyng al oure grace,
With whiche that he Iowrdan dide passe;
44
Scale and ladder of oure ascencyon;Hooke and snare of the Leviathan;
The strong pressour of oure Redempcioun,
On whiche the bloode downe be his sides Ranne,
For nothyng ellis, but for to save man;
The harp of Dauid, whiche most myght availe,
Whan that the fiend kyng Saul dide assaile.
45
This was the poole and the hygh[e] tree,Whilom sette vp by Moyses of entent—
Al Israel beholde nygh and see—
And therevpon of brasse a grete serpent,
Whiche to behold [whoo] were nat necligent,
Receyved helth, salve, and medicyne
Of al theyr hurtis, that were serpentyne.
46
This banner is most myghti of vertu,Geyns fiendes defence myghti and chief obstacle;
Most noble signe and token of Tau
To Ezechiel shewed by myracle;
Chief chaundelabre of the tabernacle,
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Voidyng al derknesse of the clowdy nyght.
47
This was the tree of mankynde boote,Thatt stynt hir wrath and brought in al the pees,
Whiche made the water of Marath fressh and swoote,
That was to-forne most bitter dout[e]les.
This was the yerd of worthy Moyses,
Whiche made the children of Israel go free
And dry-footed thurgh the Rede See.
48
This was the slyng, [with] whiche with stones fyveWorthy David, as bookes specifie,
Gan the hede and the helme to-Rive
Of the Geaunt, that callid was Golye,
Whiche fyve stones, takyng the Allegorye,
Arn the fyve woundes, as I reherse can,
With whiche that Crist venqwisshed Sathan.
49
O synful soule, why nyltow taken kepeOf his peynes, Remembryng on the showres?
Forsake the world, and wake out of thy sleepe,
And to the gardyn of perfite paramours
Make thy passage, and gadre there thy flowres
Of verray vertu, and chaunge al thyn old lyf,
And in that gardyn be contemplatyf!
50
For this world here, both at Even and morwe,Who list considre aright in his Reasoun,
Is but an exile and a desert of sorwe,
Meynt ay with trouble and tribulacioun;
But who list fynde consolacioun
Of gostly Ioye, lete hym the worlde forsake
And to that gardyn the Right[e] wey[e] take,
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Where-as [þat] god of love hym-self doth dwelleVpon an hille ferre from the mortal vale—
Canticorum the booke ful wele can telle—
Callyng his spouse with sugred notes smale,
Where that ful lowde the Amerous nyghtyngale
Vpon a thorn is wont to calle and crye
To mannes soule with hevenly Armonye:
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‘Veni in ortum meum: soror mea.Com to my gardyn and to myn herber grene,
My fayre suster and my spouse deere,
From filth of synne by vertu made al clene;
With Cristal paved, thaleys bien so cliere.
Com, for I calle, anon and thow shalt heere.’
How Crist Ihesu, so blessid mote he be,
Callith mannes soule of perfite charite!
53
He callith hir ‘suster’ and his ‘spouse’ also:First his suster, who-so list to se,
As by nature—take goode heede herto!—
Ful nygh of kynne by consanguinite;
And eke his spouse by affinyte,—
I meane as thus: be affynite of grace,—
With gostly love whan he doth it embrace;
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And eke his suster by semblaunce of nature,Whan that he toke oure humanyte
Of a mayde most clennest and pure,
[OMITTED]
Fresshest of floures that sprang out of Iesse,
As flour ordeyned for to Releve man,
Whiche bare the fruyt that slough oure foo Sathan.”
Of this Balade Dan Iohn
Lydgate made nomore.
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