University of Virginia Library

AT Alisaundrie, tel i ow con,
In þe emperours tyme Zenon
Dwelled a wommon—þe bok seiþ swa—
Þat men called Theodora,
A noble wommon and a feir,
And hire hedde iweddet a riche heir,
A semely mon and muri of mod,
Þat God dredde and dude muche good.
Þe deuel, so ful of tricherie,
To þis wommon hedde envye,
Tempted so a riche mon
Þat he coueyted þis wommon.
Messagers þen he hire sent,
And ȝiftus, to haue hire assent.
Þe messagers heo forsoke,
Of his ȝiftus non heo toke.
He bisied him þouȝ neuerþeles,
Þat heo mihte wel haue no pes,
And put him to þouȝt and trauayle,
Til he bigon neihond to fayle.
Atte laste ful wikkedliche
To þat wommon he sent a wicche,
Wiþ hire to talke his entent
And forte maken hire assent.
Þe wicche wiþ sotyl wordus þan
Bigon to talke to þis womman,
And hou þat heo scholde bere þe gult
For þat mon, ȝif he weore spilt.
Þe gode wyf seide: »for Godus eiȝe
I dar me not auntren, þouȝ i schulde diȝe,
Þat wiþ his eȝen whateuer we do
Seoþ, tyde and tyme, and euermo«.
þe wicche þen þe fend was wors—
Alle suche haue Godus curs!—
And seide: »al þat euere is don bi day
God almihti seo wel may,
But, aftur þe sonne is forþ gon,
He may seo noþing what we don.«
Þen onswerd þe gode wyf:
»Is þat soþ, bi þi lyf?«
And heo onswerd: »dame, beo my fey,
Hit is soþ nou þat i sey«.
Heo was bigyled verreylichche,
And þen heo seide to þe wicche:
»Þat þou seist, nou i beoleeue.
Bid him come nou sone at eue:
I schal beo redi to folfulle,
When þat he comeþ, al his wille«.

WHon þat þe wicche hed told him þis,
He was a joiful mon, iwis,
And atte same tyme he com
And fond Theodora at hom;
Wiþ hire he dude what him lust,
And went his wei, whon he hedde cust.
Whon heo biþouȝt hire aftur wel,
Heo weopte and made muche deol
And beot hire owne face ful sore,
And among criede euer more:
»Allas allas, what haue i do!
Mi soule is lost for euermo,
I haue destruyȝed nou þe siht
Of my beute, þat was so briht«.
Whon hir hosebonde comen hom was,
He biheold hire in þe fas,
And whon he sauh hire heui cher,
Þerof he hedde gret wonder.
He asked hire what hire was.
Heo nolde him not telle of þat cas.
And he hire cumforted ofte siþe,
But for no þing wolde heo beo bliþe.
Vppon þe morwen, whon hit was day,
Heo wente hir to an abbay
Of nonnes, and of þat abbes
Heo asked sone, wiþouten les,
Wheþer God mihte wite a gret trespas
Þat heo dude þe niht þat last was
Tofore, aftur þe sonne went doun.
Þe abbesse onswered wiþ deuocioun
Þat »God so mihtful is al way
Þat he seoþ as wel bi niht as day
And wot al þing þat is ido,
What tyde, what tyme, what vre also«.
Heo onswerde, wepyng bitterli:
»Reche me þe bok of þe Ewangeli,
Þat i mowe assaye, for i wite mot,
What schal me falle nou for my lot«.
Heo opened þe bok. anon heo fond
Þe wordus þat Pilat seide her in lond,
On Latyn þat is: Quod scripsi scripsi,
And on Englisch is, sikerli:
»Þat haue i writen þat wrot I«,
To þe men þat stod him bi.
Theodora went hir hom þan,
As a ful sori womman.

HIt bifel vppon a day
Hir hosebonde was out of þe way:
And þenne of hire owne witte
Al hire her awey heo kutte,
And in monnes cloþing
Tok þe wey wiþ gret hiȝing
Touward a munstre of monkes blake,
And þer heo preyed for Godus sake
Þat amonges oþur men
A monk of þe hous heo mihte ben.
Þei wende heo hedde ben a mon,
And þerfore þei asked hire þon
What was hire rihte name—
Heo schulde hem telle wiþoute blame.
Hire name, þat was femynyn
Of gendre, heo turned in to masculyn:
Theodora hire name was, parde,
But Theodorus heo hiht, seide heo.

ÞEn of þat mon þe monkes were glad
And token him in wiþ chere ful sad.
Þat tyme monkes neih lewed men were.
Þis mon þei dude among hem schere
And to bere þe blac abyt
Of heore ordre wiþ good dilyt.
Þei putten him to an offyce—
Þat nouþe schulde bi holde nyce—:
To ȝoke þe oxen, so mot i þe,
And fette oyle at þe cite.
Theodorus feir and wel
Dude his offys eueridel.
Hire hosebonde was ful sori
And of chere al dreri,
For he wende heo hedde beo gon
Awey wiþ sum oþur mon.

ON a tyme God almiht
Him cumforted bi an angel briht,
And seide to him: »vppon alle wyse
Loke to morwe þat þou rise
And stonde in þe same way
Þer Petur and Poul vppon a day
For Cristes loue tok martirdome;
And þe furste wommon þat þou seost come
Heo hit is þat is þy wyf,
Þat þou louedest as þy lyf«.
Vppon þe morwen he tok þe pas,
Til he com to þe same plas.
Theodora wiþ hire chamayles
Com þer forþ, to fette hire oyles.
Whon þat heo sauh hire hosebonde,
Heo kneo him wel, boþe fot and honde,
And to hire self softly heo seid,
And sykede sore in herte and breyd:
»Allas allas, my gode fere,
Hou sore i trauayle in eorþe here,
Of þat sunne dilyuered to be
Þat i haue sunged aȝeines þe!«
Whon þat heo neihȝed him neih,
Wiþ open vois al an heih
Þenne to him heo seide þis word:
»Stondeþ murie, sire, my lord!«
And he stod stille al in þouht,
For outurliche he kneuh hir nouht.
Whon heo was bi him passed hir way
And he hedde longe abide þat day,
He gan to crie and faste he weyled
And seide þat he was bigyled.
In his bed whon he was leide,
At niht a vois to him seide:
»He þat þe saluwed ȝesterday
Was þi wyf, sire, in good fay«.

THeodora forsoþe wes
Of so gret holynes
Þat God for hire miracles wrouhte
For moni men, as heo bisouȝte.
A wylde best hedde al totoren
A mon and al most forloren,
But heo saued þat mon, certeyn,
And him reised vp aȝeyn;
Þe best heo corsed witerliche,
And hit fel doun ded sodeynliche.

ÞE deuel hedde gret enuye
Þat þis wommon was so holye;
To hire he apeered vppon a day
And grimliche gon to hire say:
»Now artou wel imet,
Þow vyle foule stumpet,
Ouer al oþure more and lesse
Þou foulest avouteresse!
Þin hosebonde þou hast forsake,
And here þi dwellyng þou hast take,
For þou woldest me dispise.
I schal þe quyte on oþur wyse:
I þe telle wiþouten fayle,
Aȝeyn þe i schal reyse a batayle,
I schal þe make wiþ muchel wrake
Þe crucifixe forte forsake;
And but þat hit beo so, verreily,
Sei þou þat I nam not I«.
Whon þat heo hed herd his vois,
Heo schewed him þe signe of þe crois,
And þenne þe schrewe anon riht
Vanischt awey out of hire siht.

HIt bifel, as ȝe schul here,
Vppon a tyme of þe ȝere,
Fro þe citéé as heo com
Wiþ hire chamayles, forte gon hom:
Heo was herborwed in a plas
And to bedde ibrouht was.
A damisele com to hire þon,
As þauh hit hedde beo to a mon,
And seide: »sire, so mote þou þe,
To niht slep þou wiþ me!«
Theodora þenne þat forsok,
And þe maide þe wey þen tok
To anoþur monnes bed
Þat in þat same hous was leid.
Whon hire wombe was gret iwaxe,
Mony men þenne gonne hire aske
Whos þat child mihte þenne be.
»Theodorus þe monk haþ leȝen bi me«
Heo seide, and was noþing aschamed,
And al, for he schulde beo blamed.
Whon þe child was ibore,
Anon riht wiþouten more
Þe men, þat weren of vuel entent,
To þe abbot þe child þei sent
And seiden: his monk was waxen to wyld:
Þat hedde igeten him such a child.
Þe abbot þenne his monk gan blame
Of þat ilke wikkede fame,
And, þouh he neore not gulty,
He asked forȝiuenesse mekely.
Þen þe abbot anon riht þo
Wende hit hedde beo riht so,
And caste þe child in þe monkes lap
And bad hem boþe vuel hap,
He put hem boþe from þat abbey
And bad him go forþ on his wey.

THeodora þenne seuen ȝeer
Heold hire fro þe munster;
Wiþ milk of beestes, tame and wyld,
Heo norissched feire vp þat chyld.

ÞE deuel forsoþe wiþ gret anuye
To hire pacience hedde envye,
And in liknesse of hire hosebonde
Tofore hire þenne gon he stonde
And seide to hire: »bi þi lyf,
What dostou here, myn owne wyf?
Lo hou sek I am for þe!
I may no cumfort take to me.
Cum wiþ me, my swete leue,
And i þe, certes! schal forȝeue
Ȝif eny mon haþ bi þe leyȝen,
I nul þe þe lasse louen, certeyn«.
Heo wende hire hosbonde he hed bene,
And him onswerde wiþ herte clene:
»I schal neuer dwelle wiþ þe more,
Min herte, iwis, hit is ful sore,
For I sunged foule aȝeines þe,
Whon Jon, þe knihtes sone, lay bi me«.
In to hire preyere heo ful þo,
And þe deuel vanischt hire fro.

ÞE deuel eftsones wiþ wyles cast
Hire to fere, and atte last
In wylde beestes liknes
Deueles, boþe more and les,
To hire he sent, and a man
Hem suwed and seide þan:
»Go forþ, ȝe beestes, euerichon
And eteþ þis comuyn wommon!«
To God þenne heo made hire preyere:
Þei vanischt awey alle in fere.

OF knihtes heo sauh a cumpaygnie
Anoþur tyme wiþ hire eȝe,
And as a prince tofore hem dude gon
And þei him worschiped euerichon,
To Theodora þe knihtes gon sei:
»Arys vp al in good fey
And vre prince loke þou adoure,
Þat lord is of gret honoure!«
Þen heo onswerde anon riht:
»I worschipe him wiþ al my miht:
Mi lord God, of mihtes most,
And bouht vs alle þat weren lost«.
To heore prince aȝein þei breid
And tolden him what heo hedde iseid.
And he comaunded wiþ gret talent
Þei schulde hire trauayle wiþ torment,
Til þat heo weore wel neih dede,
»Loke ȝe quyte hire so hire mede!«
And þen þei alle vppon o fliht
Vanisch(t) awey out of hire siht.

ÞE deuel in anoþur wyse
Tempted hire wiþ couetyse:
For on a tyme heo say muche gold
And oþur tresur monyfold.
Heo blessed hir þenne wiþ þe crois
And wiþouten more nois
Heo preyed God to ben hire help,
Þat, where he loueþ, wol not ȝelp.
Heo fleyȝ þerfro as hitterly
As mon wolde from an enemy.

ANoþur tyme þer com to hire
A mon þat a basket dude bere,
Ful of alle maner of mete,
And seide: »þe prince þat þe bad bete
Bad þou schuldest take þerof and ete,
And þat for noþing þou schuldest lete;
For vnwityng he bad his men,
And wiþ wrong, bete þe þen«.
Þenne wiþ þe crois heo hire blessed,
And anon þenne hit vanisched.

AT þe seuen ȝeres ende
Þe abbot tok riht wel to muynde
Theodorus longe pacience,
And of good concience
His monk reconciled aȝen,
Wiþ his child in munstur to ben.
And aftur þat al two ȝer
Wiþ monkes in cloistre liued in fer.

VPpon a day wiþouten were
In to hire celle heo wente hire,
In to hire þat child heo clept
Þat heo so longe tofore hed kept,
And, whon heo adoun was set,
Þe dore to hire faste heo schet.
Whon þe abbot of þis wuste,
He sende his monkes forte luste,
Priueyliche forto here
What þei tweyne speken ifere.
Heo tok þe child loueliche
In hir armes, ful sweteliche
Custe hit and seide: »child, haue in mende:
Tyme is comen of my lyues ende.
To God of heuene nou leue i þe,
A good mon loke þat þou be,
Tac him þin helpere and þi syre:
He wol quite þe wel þin hire.
Mi swete sone, beo bisy ay
Him to serue boþe niht and day
Wiþ fastynge and god preyere,
Whil þat þou schalt liuen here,
Deuout loke on alle wyse
Þat þou beo in þi breþer seruyse.«
Wiþ þat word heo ȝald þe gost
To God, þat is of mihtes most.
Whon þe child þerof was war,
He wepte and made muche car.

ÞE abbot þat same niht at euen
Him þhouȝte he say al in his sweuen
A wondur swiþe gret weddyng,
And þer to was a gret comyng
Of angeles, prophetes, grete and smal,
Of martires and of halewes al;
And hem among was a wommon,
Wiþ wondur gret blisse bigon;
Whon heo com to þat weddyng,
Vppon a bed was hire sittyng,
And as þei stoden hire aboute
Þei worschiped hire, al þe route.
And þen he herde a vois sei þus:
»Abbot, þis is Theodorus
Þat falsliche acuised was
Of þat child in þi plas;
Seuen tymes wiþouten les
Vppon hire chaunged þer wes.
Heo was chastised tofore hire ded,
For heo brac hire spoushed«.
Þe abbot ros him vp anon
And waked his breþeren euerichon.
And whon þei to þe celle were gon,
Þei founden hire ded as eny ston.
Hire þere þenne þei vnheled:
A wommon þer þei sayȝ and feled.
Þen þe abbot was aschamed
And sent aftur hir fadur þat hire defamed.
»Þe mon is ded, he seide, verreyli,
Þat þi douȝtur hedde child bi«.
Whon þe cloþ was taken hire fro,
A wommon he sauh, he wuste wel þo.
Þei weoren aferd and aschamed
Alle þat euere hire hedde defamed.

AN angel, þat from God was sent,
To þe abbot seide þis entent:
»Tac þin hors, loke þat þou ride
In to þe cité in þis tyde;
Whomeuer þou metest, whon þou comest þider,
Tac him wiþ þe and bring him hider!«
Þe abbot rod forþ his way.
A mon he mette and he gon say
And asked also »whodur rennest þou?«
And he onswerede »I hiȝe me nou
To seo my wyf þat nou ded is—
Of hire haue i had ful gret mis«.
Þe abbot þen tok þis mon him wiþ,
And wenten wepyng bi feld and friþ,
Til þat þei to þe abbei com,
Þer þe monkes þei founden at hom.
Þe bodi þenne wiþ swete song
Þei burieden þo hem among.
And in þat ilke same celle
Þer Theodora was wont to dwelle,
He dwelled aftur al his lyue
And preyed for his noble wyue,
And at þe last to God he went,
Blisse to haue, verreyment.
Þe child also þat his wyf
Hedde inorissched in hire lyf,
Among his breþeren iloued so was
Þat he was chosun of þat plas
Heore abbot and heore hed to be,
Hem to gouerne in charite,
Aftur þat he to God was go
Þat abbot was tofore him þo.
God graunte vs grace wel to do,
And ȝiue us heuene blisse also! AMEN.