Part 11
_Joseph._ To be purefyed have ȝe no nede, Ne thi son to be offryd, so God me spede; ffor fyrst thou art ful clene, Undefowlyd in thought and dede; And anothyr, thi son withowtyn drede, Is God and man to mene. Wherefore it nedyd not to bene, But to kepe the lawe on Moyses wyse; Wherefore we xal take us betwene Dowys and turtelys ffor sacrefyce.
_Et ibunt ad templum._
_Symeon._ Alle heyl, my kyndely comfortour! _Anna Prophetissa._ Alle heyl, mankyndys creditour! _Symeon._ Alle heyl, thou God of myght! _Anna Prophetissa._ Alle heyl, mankyndys savyour! _Symeon._ Alle heyl, bothe kynge and emperour! _Anna Prophetissa._ Alle heyl, as it is ryght! _Symeon._ Alle heyl, also, Mary bryght! _Anna Prophetissa._ Alle heyl, salver of seknes! _Symeon._ Alle heyl, lanterne of lyght! _Anna Prophetissa._ Alle heyl, thou modyr of mekenes!
_Maria._ Symeon, I undyrstand and se, That bothyn of my sone and me ȝe have knowynge clere; And also in ȝour compané My sone desyryth for to be;— And therffore have hym here.
_Et accipiet Jhesum._
_Symeon._ Welcome, prynce withowte pere! Welcome, Goddys owyn sone! Welcome, my Lord so dere! Welcome, with me to wone!
_Suscepimus, Deus, misericordiam tuam._
Lord God in magesté, We have receyvyd this day of the, In myddys of thi temple here, Thy grett mercy, as we may se. Therfore thi name of grett degré Be wurchepyd in alle manere, Over alle this werde, bothe fere and nere, ȝevyn onto the unterest ende! ffor now is man owt of daungere, And rest and pes to alle mankende.
_“Nunc dimittis servum tuum, Domine, et cætera.” The psalme song ther every vers, and ther qwyle Symeon pleyeth with the child, and qwhan the psalme is endyd, he seyth_,
Now lete me dye, Lord, and hens pace! ffor I thi servaunt in this place Have sen my Savyour dere; Whiche thou hast ordeyned beforn the face Of al mankynde, this tyme of grace, Opynly to appere. That lyth is shynand clere, To alle mankyndys savacion; Mary, take ȝour childe now here, And kepe wel this manis savacion.
_Anna prophetissa._ Ne I rowth nere to dye also, ffor more than ffowre skore ȝere and to This tyme hath bede to se. And sythe that it is come therto, What Goddys wyl is with me to do, Ryght ȝeven so mot it be. _Joseph._ Take here these candelys thre,— Mary, Symeon, and Anne; And I xal take the fowrte to me, To offre oure childe up thanne.
_Maria._ Hyest ffadyr, God of powere! ȝour owyn dere son I offre ȝow here, As I to ȝour lawe am sworn. Receyve thi childe in glad manere, For he is the fyrst, this childe so dere, That of his modyr is born. But ȝow I offre hym ȝow beforn, Good Lord, ȝit ȝyf me hym aȝen! ffor my comforte were fully lorn, If we xulde longe a-sondyr ben.
_Mari leyth the childe on the autere._
_Joseph._ Sere prest of the temple, now Have he ffyffe pens unto ȝow, Oure childe aȝen to take. _Capellanus._ It is the lawe, as ȝe woot how, Joseph, ȝe an do rygh a-now, As for ȝour childys sake. But othere offerynge ȝett must ȝe make; And therfore take ȝour sone, Mary! In meche joye ȝe may awake, Whylys he is in ȝour company.
_Maria._ Therto I am ful glad and fayn, ffor to receyve my childe agayn, Ellys were I to blame. And afterewarde ffor to be bayn, To offre to God in ful certayn, As in my sonys name, With ffowlys bothe wylde and tame,— ffor in Goddys servyse I xal nevyr irke. _Joseph._ Lo! Mary, have here tho same, To do thi dewtys of holy kyrke.
_And ther Mary offeryth ffowlys onto the autere, and seyth_,
_Maria._ Allemyghtyfful fadyr, mercyful kynge! Receyvyth now this lytyl offrynge, ffor it is the fyrst in degré, That ȝour lytyl childe so ȝynge, Presentyth to day be my shewyng, To ȝour hyȝ magesté, Of his sympyl poverté, Be his devocion and my good wylle; Upon ȝour awtere receyve of me, ȝour sonys offrynge, as it is skylle!
XIX. THE SLAUGHTER OF THE INNOCENTS.
_Tunc respiciens senescallus vadit ad Herodem dicens_,
_Senescallus._ Lord, I have walkyd be dale and hylle, And wayted, as it is ȝour wylle; The kynges iij. stelyn awey fulle stylle, Thorwe Bedleem londe. They wyl nevyr, so mot y the, Come in the lond of Galylé, ffor to se ȝour fay ceté, Ne dedys of ȝour honde.
_Herodes Rex._ I ryde on my rowel ryche in my regne, Rybbys fful reed with rape xal I sende; Popetys et paphawkes I xal puttyn in peyne, With my spere prevyn, pychyn, and to-pende. The gowys with gold crownys gete thei nevyr ageyn, To seke tho sottys sondys xal I sende; Do howlott howtyn hoberd and heyn, Whan here barnys blede undyr credyl bende; Sharply I xal hem shende! The knave childeryn that be In alle Israel countré, Thei xul have blody ble, ffor on I calde unkende.
It is tolde in Grw, His name xulde be Jhesu I-fownde. To have hym ȝe gon, Hewe the flesche with the bon, And gyff hym wownde! Now kene knyghtes, kythe ȝour craftys, And kyllyth knave chylderyn and castyth hem in clay; Shewyth on ȝour shulderes scheldys and schaftys, Shapyht amonge schel chowthys ashyrlyng shray; Doth rowncys rennyn with rakynge raftys, Tyl rybbys be to rent with a reed ray; Lete no barne beleve on bete baftys, Tyl a beggere blede be bestys baye Mahound that best may; I warne ȝow my knyghtes, A barn is born I plyghtys, Wolde clymbyn kynge and kyknytes, And lett my lordly lay.
Knyghtys wyse, Chosyn ful chyse, Aryse! aryse! And take ȝour tolle! And every page Of ij. ȝere age, Or evyr ȝe swage, Sleythe ilke a fool.
On of hem alle Was born in stalle, ffolys hym calle Kynge in crowne. With byttyr galle, He xalle down falle,— My myght in halle Xal nevyr go down.
_Primus miles._ I xall sle scharlys, And qwenys with therlys, Here knave gerlys, I xal steke. fforthe wyl I spede, To don hem blede, Thow gerlys grede, We xul be wreke.
_Secundus miles._ ffor swerdys sharpe, As an harpe, Quenys xul karpe, And of sorwe synge. Barnys ȝonge, They xul be stunge,— Thurwe levyr and lunge We xal hem stynge.
_Angelus._ Awake, Joseph, and take thi wyff, Thy childe also ryd be-lyff! ffor kynge Herowde, with sharpe knyff His knyghtes he doth sende. The Fadyr of hevyn hath to the sent, Into Egypte that thou be bent, ffor cruel knyghtes thi childe have ment With swerd to sle and shende.
_Joseph._ Awake, good wyff, out of ȝour sleepe, And of ȝour childe takyght good kepe, Whyl I ȝour clothis ley on hepe, And trus hem on the asse. Kynge Herowde the chylde wyl scloo, Therfore to Egypte muste we goo, An aungel of God seyd me soo, And therfore lete us passe.
_Tunc ibunt milites ad pueros occidendos, et dicat prima fæmina_,
_Prima fæmina._ Longe lullynge have I lorn! Alas! qwhy was my baron born? With swappynge swerde now is he shorn The heed ryght fro the nekke! Shanke and shulderyn is al to-torn, Sorwyn I se behyndyn and beforn, Both mydnyth, mydday, and at morn,— Of my lyff I ne recke.
_Secunda fæmina._ Serteynly I say the same, Gon is alle my good game, My lytylle childe lyth alle lame, That lullyd on my pappys! My ffourty wekys gronynge Hath sent me sefne ȝere sorwynge, Mykyl is my mornynge, And ryght hard arne myn happys!
_Primus miles._ Lorde in trone Makyght no mone, Qwenys gyn grone In werld aboute. Upon my spere A gerle I bere, I dare welle swere, Lett moderes howte.
_Secundus miles._ Lord, we han spad, As ȝe bad; Barnis ben blad, And lyne in dyche. fflesche and veyn Han tholyd peyn, And ȝe xul reyne Evermore ryche.
_Herodes Rex._ ȝe xul have stedys To ȝour medys, Londys and ledys, ffryth and ffe. Wele have ȝe wrought, My ffo is sought, To deth is he brought,— Now come up to me.
In sete now am I sett, as kynge of myghtys most, Alle this werd ffor ther love to me xul thei lowt; Bothe of hevyn, and of erthe, and of helle cost, ffor dygne of my dygnyté thei have of me dowt. Ther is no lord lyke on lyve to me wurthe a toost, Nether kyng nor kayser in alle this world abought; If any brybour do bragge or blowe aȝens my bost, I xal rappe tho rebawdys and rake them on rought, With my bryght bronde. Ther xal be neyther kayser nere kynge, But that I xal hem down dynge, Lesse than he at my byddynge Be buxum to myn honde.
Now, my jentylle and curteys knyghtes, herke to me this stownde, Good tyme sone me thynkyghe at dyner that we were; Smertly therfore sett a tabylle anon here fful sownde, Coverid with a coryous clothe and with ryche wurthy fare; Servyse ffor the lovelyest lorde that levynge is on grownde, Beste metes, and wurthyest wynes, loke that ȝe non spare; Thow that a lytyl pynt xulde coste a mˡ. pownde, Brynge alwey of the beste, for coste take ȝe no care,— Anon that it be done. _Senescallus._ My lorde, the tabyl is redy dyght; Here is watyr, now wasche forth ryght! Now blowe up mynstralle with alle ȝour myght! The servyse comyth in sone.
_Herodes._ Now am I sett at mete, And wurthely servyd at my degré; Com forthe knyghtes, sytt down and ete, And be as mery as ȝe kan be. _Primus Miles._ Lord, at ȝowre byddynge we take oure sete, With herty wyl obey we the; Ther is no lord of myght so grett, Thorwe alle this werde in no countré, In wurchepp to abyde! _Herodes._ I was nevyr meryer here beforn, Suthe that I was fyrst born, Than I am now ryght in this morn,— In joy I gynne to glyde.
_Mors._ Ow! I herde a page make preysyng of pride, Alle prynces he passyth, he wenyth, of powsté; He wenyth to be the wurthyest of alle this werde wyde,— Kynge ovyr alle kynges that page wenyth to be. He sent into Bedlem, to seke on every syde, Cryst for to qwelle, yf thei myght hym se; But of his wykkyd wyl lurdeyn ȝitt he lyede, Goddys sone doth lyve,—ther is no Lord but he! Over alle lordys he is kynge! I am Dethe, Goddys masangere! Allemyghty God hath sent me here, ȝon lordeyn to sle, withowtyn dwere, ffor his wykkyd workynge. I am sent fro God, Deth is my name! Alle thynge that is on grownd I welde at my wylle; Bothe man and beste, and byrdys, wylde and tame, Whan that I come them to, with deth I do them kylle. Erbe, gres, and tres stronge, take hem alle in same; ȝa, the grete myghty okys with my dent I spylle; What man that I wrastele with, he xal ryght sone have schame, — I ȝeve him suche a trepett, he xal evyr more ly stylle, ffor deth kan no sporte. Wher I smyte, ther is no grace, ffor aftere my strook man hath no space To make amendys ffor his trespace, But God hym graunt comforte.
Ow! se how prowdely ȝon kaytyff sytt at mete! Of deth hath he no dowte, he wenyth to leve evyrmore; To hym wyl I go, and ȝeve hym suche an hete, That alle the lechis of the londe his lyf xul nevyr restore: Aȝens my dredful dentys it vaylyth nevyr to plete, Or I hym part fro I xal hym make ful pore; Alle the blood of his body I xal hym owt swete, ffor now I go to sle hym with strokys sad and sore, This tyde. Bothe hym and his knyghtes alle, I xal hem make to me but thralle, With my spere sle him I xalle, And so cast down his pride.
_Herodes Rex._ Now, kende knyghtes, be mery and glad! With alle good diligens shewe now sum myrthe! ffor, be gracyous Mahound, more myrthe never I had, Ne nevyr more joye was inne from tyme to tyme of my byrthe; ffor now my fo is ded and prendyd as a padde, Above me is no kynge on grownd nere on gerthe! Merthis therfore make ȝe, and be ryght nothynge sadde; Spare nether mete nor drynke, and spare for no dyrthe Of wyne nor of brede. ffor now am I a kynge alone, So wurthy as I may ther be none, Therfore knyghtes be mery echone, ffor now my ffo is dede!
_Primus Miles._ Whan the boys sprawlyd at my sperys hende, By Sathanas, oure syre, it was a goodly syght! A good game it was the boy for to shende, That wolde a bene oure kynge and put ȝow from ȝour ryght. _Secundus Miles._ Now trewly, my lorde the kynge, we had ben unkende, And nevyr non of us able for to be a knyght; If that any of us to hem had ben a frende, And a savyd any lyff aȝen thi mekyl myght, — ffrom deth hem to flytt. _Herodes Rex._ Amonges alle that grett rowthte He is ded, I have no dowte, Therfore, menstrelle, rownd abowte Blowe up a mery fytt.
_Hic dum buccinant mors interficiat Herodem et duos milites subito, et diabolus recipiat eos_,
_Diabolus._ Alle oure! alle oure! this catel is myn! I xalle hem brynge onto my celle! I xal hem teche pleys fyn, And shewe suche myrthe as is in helle! It were more bettyr amonges swyne, That evyr more stynkyn ther be to dwelle; ffor in oure logge is so gret peyn, That non erthely tonge can telle: With ȝow I go my way. I xal ȝow here forthe with me, And shewe ȝow sportes of oure gle, Of oure myrthis now ȝal ȝe se, And evyr synge “welaway.”
_Mors._ Off kynge Herowde alle men beware, That hath rejoycyd in pompe and pryde; ffor alle his boste of blysse ful bare, He lythe now ded here on his syde! ffor whan I come, I cannot spare, Fro me no whyht may hym hyde; Now is he ded and cast in care, In helle pytt evyr to abyde; His lordchep is al lorn. Now is he as pore as I, Wormys mete is his body, His sowle in helle ful peynfully Of develis is al to-torn.
Alle men dwellyng upon the grownde, Beware of me, be myn councel; ffor feynt felachep in me is fownde, — I kan no curtesy, as I ȝow tel; ffor be a man nevyr so sownde, Of helthe in herte nevyr so wel, I come sodeynly within a stownde, — Me withstande may no castel, My jurnay wyl I spede. Of my comyng no man is ware, ffor whan men make most mery fare, Than sodeynly I cast hem in care, And sle them evyn indede. Thow I be nakyd and pore of array, And wurmys knawe me all abowte, ȝit loke ȝe drede me nyth and day, ffor whan deth comyth, ȝe stande in dowte; Evyn lyke to me, as I ȝow say, Shulle alle ȝe be here in this rowte; Whan I ȝow chalange at my day, I xal ȝow make ryght lowe to lowth, And nakyd for to be. Amonges wormys, as I ȝow telle, Undyr the erthe xul ȝe dwelle, And thei xul etyn bothe flesche and felle, As thei have don me.
XX. CHRIST DISPUTING IN THE TEMPLE.
_Modo de doctoribus disputantibus cum Jhesu in templo._
_Primus doctor._ Scripturæ sacræ esse dinoscimur doctos, We to bere the belle of alle maner clergyse. _Secundus doctor._ Velud rosa omnium florum flos, Lyke onto us was nevyr clerke so wyse. _Primus doctor._ Loke what scyens ȝe kan devyse, Of redynge, wrytynge, and trewe ortografye; Amonges alle clerkys we bere the prysse, Of gramer, cadens, and of prosodye. _Secundus doctor._ No clerke abyl to bere oure book Of versyfyeng, nor of other scyens; Of swete musyke who so wylle look, Seke no ferther but to oure presens. Of dyaletyk we have the hyȝ excellence, Of sophestrye, logyk, and phylosophye; Ageyn oure argemente is no recystence, In metaphesyk ne astronomye. _Primus doctor._ Of calculacion and negremauncye, Also of augrym and of asmatryk; O[f] lynyacion that longyth to jematrye, Of dyetis and domys that longyth to phesyk; In alle this scyens is non us lyke, In Caton, Gryscysme, nor Doctrynal; And for endytynge with retoryke, The hyest degré is oure over alle. _Secundus doctor._ In grett canon and in cevyle lawe, Also in scyens of polycye, Is non to us wurthe an hawe,— Of alle cunnynge we bere the maystrye; Therfore in this temple we sytt on hye, And of most wurchep kepe the sovereynté; Ther is on erthe no man so wurthye The hyȝ stat to holdyn, as we tweyn be.
_Jhesus._ Omnis sciencia a Domino Deo est: Al wytt and wysdam of God it is lent; Of alle ȝour lernynge withinne ȝour brest, Thank hyghly that Lord that hath ȝow sent; Thorwe bost and pryde ȝour soulys may be shent, Of wytt and wysdome ȝe have not so meche, But God may make, at hese entente, Of alle ȝour connynge many man ȝow leche.
_Primus doctor._ Goo hom, lytyl babe, and sytt on thi moderes lappe, And put a mokador aforn thi brest; And pray thi modyr to fede the with the pappe, Of the for to lerne we desyre not to lest. _Secundus doctor._ Go to thi dyner, for that behovyth the best, Whan thou art a threste than take the a sowke; Aftyr go to cradyl therin to take thi rest, ffor that canst do bettyr than for to loke on book.
_Jhesus._ Stondynge that ȝe be so wytty and wyse, Can ȝe owth tellyn how this werde was wrought? How longe xal it laste can ȝe devyse, With alle the cunnynge that ȝe han sought? _Primus doctor._ Nay alle erthely clerkys that telle can nought, It passyth oure wytt that for to contryve; It is not possyble abought to be brought,— The worldys endyng no man kan dyscryve.
_Jhesus._ How it was wrought, and how longe it xal endure, That I can telle be good delyberacion; Not only therof, but of every creature, How it is wrought, I knowe the phasmacion. _Secundus doctor._ Of thi wurdys I have skorne and derysone; How schulde a chylde, that nevyr lettyr dyde lere, Com to the wytt of so hyȝ cognysion Of tho grete werkys that so wundyrfoille were?
_Jhesus._ Alle thynge is brought to informacion, Be thre personys, oo God in Trynité! And on of tho thre hath take incarnation, Bothe flesche and blood of a mayd ffre; And be that myght of tho personys thre, Hevyn and erthe and alle thynge is wrought; And as it plesyth that hyȝ magesté, Alle thynge xal leste and lenger nowght.
_Primus doctor._ I grawnt weyl alle thynge that God dyde make, And withowtyn hym nothynge may be; But o thynge thou seydyst, and that I forsake, That oo God alone was personys thre; Ryght onpossyble that is to me, That on is thre I kannot thynke: If thou canst preve it, anon lett se, ffor in oure hertys it may nevyr synke.
_Jhesus._ In the sunne consydyr ȝe thynges thre, The splendure, the hete, and the lyght; As tho thre partys but oo sunne be, Ryght so thre personys be oo God of myght. _Secundus doctor._ In very feyth this reson is ryght; But ȝitt, fayr babe, oo thynge we pray ȝow:— What do alle tho thre personys hyght Us to enforme? ȝe sey to me now.
_Jhesus._ The fyrst is calde the fadyr of myght, The secunde the sone of wysdam and wytt; The holy gost the iijᵈᵉ. of grace he is lyght, And in oo substauns alle these iij. be knyt. _Primus doctor._ Another questyon I aske ȝow ȝitt, ȝe seyd on of these iij. toke flesche and blood; And sche a clene mayde, I kannot beleve it, Clene mayde and modyr never ȝit in oo persone stood.
_Jhesus._ Lyke as the sunne doth pers the glas, The glas not hurte of his nature; Ryght so the Godhede entryd has The virgynes wombe, and sche mayd pure; That maydonys childe xal do grett cure, Convicte the devyl in the opyn folde; And with his bolde berst fecche hom his creature, Mankende to save his brest xal be the schelde.
_Secundus doctor._ This childys doctryne dothe passe our wytt, Sum aungel of hevyn I trowe that he be; But, blyssyd babe, of oo dowte ȝitt, We pray ȝow enforme us for charyté— Whiche toke flesche of the personys thre, Ageyn the fende to holde suche batayle? _Jhesus._ The secunde persone forsothe is he, Xal fray the fende withowte fayle.
_Primus doctor._ Why rather he than any of that tother, The fyrst or the thyrde, why come they nowth? _Jhesus._ This is the cawse why, sertys, and non other, Ageyn the secunde the trespas was wrought; Whan the serpent Adam to synne browth, He temptyd hym nowght be the faderes myght; Of the gostys goodnes spak he ryght nowght, But in connynge he temptyd hym ryght. Myght is the Faderys owyn propyrté; To the Gost apperyd is goodnes; In none of these tweyn temptyd he Mankende to synne, whan he dede dresse: To the Sone connynge doth longe expres, Therwith the serpent dyd Adam asay,— “Ete of this appyl,” he seyd no lesse, “And thou xalt have connynge as God verray.”
Thus the secunde person attrybute, Was only towchyd by temptacion; Wherfore hymself wyl holde the sewte, And kepe his propyrté fro maculacion. _Secundus doctor._ This is an hevynly declaracion, Oure naturalle wytt it doth excede; So ȝonge a childe of suche informacion In al this werld nevyr er non ȝede.
_Primus doctor._ We be not worthy to kepe this sete, Whylle that oure mayster is in presens; The maystry of us this childe doth gete,— We must hym wurchep with hyȝ reverens! Come forthe, swete babe of grett excellens, The whysest clerke that evyr ȝett was born; To ȝow we ȝeve the hyȝ resydens, Us more to teche, as ȝe have done beforn.
_Hic adducunt Jhesum inter ipsos et in scanno altiori ipsum sedere faciunt, ipsis in inferioribus scannis sedentibus, et ait._
_Secundus doctor._ So ȝonge a chylde suche clergye to reche, And so sadly to say it, we woundyr sore. Who was ȝoure mayster? who dede ȝow teche? Of what man had ȝe this wurthy lore? _Jhesus._ My wytt and my lernynge is no ȝonge store; Or this worde was wrought alle thinge dede I knowe; ffyrst or ȝe wore borne ȝeres many score, Thorwe the myght of my fadyr, my wytt in me dede flowe.
_Primus doctor._ Or that we weryn born, nay that may nat be; The ȝongest of us tweyn is iij. score ȝere of age, And thiselfe art but a chylde, al men may wel se, Late camst out of cradyl, as it semyth be thi vesage. _Jhesus._ I am of dobyl byrthe and of dobyl lenage; ffyrst, be my Fadyr I am without gynnynge, And lyke as he is hendeles in his hyȝ stage, So xal I also nevyr mor have endynge.
ffor be my ffadyr, kynge celestyalle, Without begynnyng I am endles; But be my modyr that is carnalle, I am but xij. ȝere of age, that is expres; My body of ȝoughe doth shewe wyttnes, Whiche of my modyr here I dude take; But myn hyȝ godhede, this is no lesse, Alle thinge in this worlde forsothe dude I make.
_Secundus doctor._ Be ȝour fadyr that endles is: Who is ȝour modyr? telle us we pray. _Jhesus._ Be my fadyr, the hyȝ kynge of blys, A modyrles chylde I am veray. _Primus doctor._ Who was ȝour fadyr to us than say? Be ȝour modyr a woman that was. _Jhesus._ I am ffadyrles; as for that may, Of fleschly luste she dude nevyr trespas.