 | The Wynedrawers |  |
[Scene, near the holy sepulchre.]
as a gardener].
Thou wilfull woman in þis waye,
Why wepis þou soo als þou wolde wede,
Als þou on felde wolde falle doune faie?
Do way, and do nomore þat dede.
Whome sekist þou þis longe daye?
Say me þe sothe, als Criste þe rede.
Maria.
Mi lorde Jesu and God verray,
Þat suffered for synnes his sides bleede.
I schall þe saie, will þou me here,
Þe soth of hym þat þou hast sought,
With-owten drede, þou faithfull fere,
He is full nere þat mankynde bought.
Maria.
Sir, I wolde loke both ferre and nere
To fynde my lorde, I se hym noght.
Jesus.
Womane, wepe noght, but mende thy chere,
I wotte wele whedir þat he was brought.
Swete Sir, yf þou hym bare awaye,
Saie me þe sothe and thedir me leede,
Where þou hym didde with-outen delay
I schall hym seke agayne, goode speede.
Therfore, goode gardener, saie þou me,
I praye þe for the prophetis sake,
Of ther tythyngis þat I aske þe.
For it wolde do my sorowe to slake,
Wher Goddis body founden myght be
Þat Joseph of þe crose gonne take,
Might I hym fange vnto my fee,
Of all my woo he wolde me wrake.
What wolde þou doo with þat body bare
Þat beried was with balefull chere?
Þou may noght salue hym of his sare,
His peynes were so sadde and seere.
But he schall cover mankynde of care,
Þat clowded was he schall make clere,
And þe folke wele for to fare
Þat fyled were all in feere.
Maria.
A! might I euere with þat man mete
Þe whiche þat is so mekill of myght,
Drye schulde I wype þat nowe is wete,
I am but sorowe of worldly sight.
Marie, of mournyng amende thy moode,
And be-holde my woundes wyde,
Þus for mannys synnes I schedde my bloode,
And all þis bittir bale gonne bide.
Þus was I rased on þe roode
With spere and nayles that were vnrude,
Trowe it wele, it turnes to goode,
Whanne men in erthe þer flessh schall hyde.
A! Rabony, I haue þe sought,
Mi maistir dere full faste þis day.
Jesus.
Maria.
Mi lorde Jesu, I knowe nowe þe,
Þi woundes þai are nowe wette.
Jesus.
Negh me noght, my loue, latte be!
Marie, my doughtir swete.
To my fadir in Trinite
Forþe I stigh noȝt yette.
A! mercy, comely conquerour,
Thurgh þi myght þou haste ouercome dede:
Mercy, Jesu! man and saueour,
Thi loue is swetter þanne þe mede.
Mercy! myghty confortour,
For are I was full wille of rede.
Welcome lorde, all myn honnoure,
Mi joie, my luffe, in ilke a stede.
To my god and my Fadir dere,
To hym als swithe I schall assende,
For I schall nowe noȝt longe dwelle here,
I haue done als my Fadir me kende,
And therfore loke þat ilke man lere,
Howe þat in erthe þer liffe may mende.
All þat me loues I schall drawe nere,
Mi Fadirs blisse þat neuere schall ende.
Alle for joie me likes to synge,
Myne herte is gladder þanne þe glee,
And all for joie of thy risyng
That suffered dede vpponne a tree.
Of luffe nowe is þou crouned kyng,
Is none so trewe levand more free,
Thy loue passis all erthely thyng,
Lorde, blissed motte þou euere bee!
To Galile schall þou wende,
Marie, my doghtir dere,
Vnto my brethir hende,
Þer þei are all in fere.
Telle þame ilke word to ende
Þat þou spake with me here.
Mi blissing on þe lende,
And all þat we leffe here.
1.
Maria.
ALLAS, in þis worlde was neuere no wight
Walkand with so mekill woo,
Thou dredfull dede, drawen hythir and dight
And marre me, as þou haste done moo.
In lame is it loken all my light,
For-thy on grounde on-glad I goo,
Jesus of Nazareth he hight,
The false Jewes slewe hym me froo.
Walkand with so mekill woo,
Thou dredfull dede, drawen hythir and dight
And marre me, as þou haste done moo.
In lame is it loken all my light,
For-thy on grounde on-glad I goo,
Jesus of Nazareth he hight,
The false Jewes slewe hym me froo.
2.
Mi witte is waste nowe in wede,
I walowe, I walke, nowe woo is me,
For laide nowe is þat lufsome in lede,
The Jewes hym nayled vntill a tree.
My doulfull herte is euere in drede,
To grounde nowe gone is all my glee,
I sporne þer I was wonte to spede,
Nowe helpe me God in persones three.
I walowe, I walke, nowe woo is me,
For laide nowe is þat lufsome in lede,
The Jewes hym nayled vntill a tree.
422
To grounde nowe gone is all my glee,
I sporne þer I was wonte to spede,
Nowe helpe me God in persones three.
3.
Thou lufsome lede in ilke a lande,
As þou schope both day and nyght,
Sonne and mone both bright schynand,
Þou graunte me grace to haue a sight
Of my lorde, or ellis his sande.
As þou schope both day and nyght,
Sonne and mone both bright schynand,
Þou graunte me grace to haue a sight
Of my lorde, or ellis his sande.
4.
Jesus
as a gardener].
Thou wilfull woman in þis waye,
Why wepis þou soo als þou wolde wede,
Als þou on felde wolde falle doune faie?
Do way, and do nomore þat dede.
Whome sekist þou þis longe daye?
Say me þe sothe, als Criste þe rede.
Maria.
Mi lorde Jesu and God verray,
Þat suffered for synnes his sides bleede.
5.
Jesus.I schall þe saie, will þou me here,
Þe soth of hym þat þou hast sought,
With-owten drede, þou faithfull fere,
He is full nere þat mankynde bought.
Maria.
Sir, I wolde loke both ferre and nere
To fynde my lorde, I se hym noght.
Jesus.
Womane, wepe noght, but mende thy chere,
I wotte wele whedir þat he was brought.
6.
Maria.Swete Sir, yf þou hym bare awaye,
Saie me þe sothe and thedir me leede,
Where þou hym didde with-outen delay
I schall hym seke agayne, goode speede.
Therfore, goode gardener, saie þou me,
I praye þe for the prophetis sake,
Of ther tythyngis þat I aske þe.
For it wolde do my sorowe to slake,
423
Þat Joseph of þe crose gonne take,
Might I hym fange vnto my fee,
Of all my woo he wolde me wrake.
7.
Jesus.What wolde þou doo with þat body bare
Þat beried was with balefull chere?
Þou may noght salue hym of his sare,
His peynes were so sadde and seere.
But he schall cover mankynde of care,
Þat clowded was he schall make clere,
And þe folke wele for to fare
Þat fyled were all in feere.
Maria.
A! might I euere with þat man mete
Þe whiche þat is so mekill of myght,
Drye schulde I wype þat nowe is wete,
I am but sorowe of worldly sight.
8.
Jesus.Marie, of mournyng amende thy moode,
And be-holde my woundes wyde,
Þus for mannys synnes I schedde my bloode,
And all þis bittir bale gonne bide.
Þus was I rased on þe roode
With spere and nayles that were vnrude,
Trowe it wele, it turnes to goode,
Whanne men in erthe þer flessh schall hyde.
9.
Maria.A! Rabony, I haue þe sought,
Mi maistir dere full faste þis day.
Jesus.
Goo awaye, Marie, and touche me noȝt,
But take goode kepe what I schall saie.
I ame hee þat all thyng wroght,
Þat þou callis þi lorde and God verraye,
With bittir dede I mankynde boght,
And I am resen as þou se may.
But take goode kepe what I schall saie.
I ame hee þat all thyng wroght,
Þat þou callis þi lorde and God verraye,
With bittir dede I mankynde boght,
And I am resen as þou se may.
10.
And therfore, Marie, speke nowe with me,
And latte þou nowe be thy grette.
And latte þou nowe be thy grette.
Maria.
Mi lorde Jesu, I knowe nowe þe,
424
Jesus.
Negh me noght, my loue, latte be!
Marie, my doughtir swete.
To my fadir in Trinite
Forþe I stigh noȝt yette.
11.
Maria.A! mercy, comely conquerour,
Thurgh þi myght þou haste ouercome dede:
Mercy, Jesu! man and saueour,
Thi loue is swetter þanne þe mede.
Mercy! myghty confortour,
For are I was full wille of rede.
Welcome lorde, all myn honnoure,
Mi joie, my luffe, in ilke a stede.
12.
Jesus.
Marie, in thyne harte þou write,
Myne armoure riche and goode,
Myne actone couered all with white,
Als cors of man be-hewede
With stuffe goode and parfite
Of maydenes flessh and bloode.
Whan thei ganne thirle and smyte
Mi heede for hawberke stoode.
Myne armoure riche and goode,
Myne actone couered all with white,
Als cors of man be-hewede
With stuffe goode and parfite
Of maydenes flessh and bloode.
Whan thei ganne thirle and smyte
Mi heede for hawberke stoode.
13.
Mi plates wer spredde all on-brede,
Þat was my body vppon a tree;
Myne helme couered all with manhede,
Þe strengh þer-of may no man see;
Þe croune of thorne þat garte me blede,
Itt be-menes my dignite.
Mi diademe sais, with-outen drede,
Þat dede schall I neuere be.
Þat was my body vppon a tree;
Myne helme couered all with manhede,
Þe strengh þer-of may no man see;
Þe croune of thorne þat garte me blede,
Itt be-menes my dignite.
Mi diademe sais, with-outen drede,
Þat dede schall I neuere be.
14.
Maria.
A! blessid body, þat bale wolde beete,
Dere haste þou bought man-kynne,
Thy woundes hath made þi body wete,
With bloode þat was þe with-inne.
Nayled þou was thurgh hande and feete,
And all was for oure synne.
Full grissely muste we caitiffis grete,
Of bale howe schulde I blynne?
Dere haste þou bought man-kynne,
Thy woundes hath made þi body wete,
With bloode þat was þe with-inne.
Nayled þou was thurgh hande and feete,
425
Full grissely muste we caitiffis grete,
Of bale howe schulde I blynne?
15.
To see þis ferly foode
Þus ruffully dight,
Rugged and rente on a roode,
Þis is a rewfull sight.
And all is for oure goode,
And no-thyng for his plight,
Spilte þus is his bloode,
For ilke a synfull wight.
Þus ruffully dight,
Rugged and rente on a roode,
Þis is a rewfull sight.
And all is for oure goode,
And no-thyng for his plight,
Spilte þus is his bloode,
For ilke a synfull wight.
16.
Jesus.To my god and my Fadir dere,
To hym als swithe I schall assende,
For I schall nowe noȝt longe dwelle here,
I haue done als my Fadir me kende,
And therfore loke þat ilke man lere,
Howe þat in erthe þer liffe may mende.
All þat me loues I schall drawe nere,
Mi Fadirs blisse þat neuere schall ende.
17.
Maria.Alle for joie me likes to synge,
Myne herte is gladder þanne þe glee,
And all for joie of thy risyng
That suffered dede vpponne a tree.
Of luffe nowe is þou crouned kyng,
Is none so trewe levand more free,
Thy loue passis all erthely thyng,
Lorde, blissed motte þou euere bee!
18.
Jesus.To Galile schall þou wende,
Marie, my doghtir dere,
Vnto my brethir hende,
Þer þei are all in fere.
Telle þame ilke word to ende
Þat þou spake with me here.
Mi blissing on þe lende,
And all þat we leffe here.
| The Wynedrawers | |