Part 7

Mary, wole ȝe have this man, And hym to kepyn as ȝour lyff? _Maria._ In the tenderest wyse, fadyr, as I kan And with alle my wyttys ffyff. _Episcopus._ Joseph, with this ryng now wedde thi wyff, And be here hand now thou here take. _Joseph._ Sere, with this rynge I wedde here ryff, And take here now here ffor my make. _Episcopus._ Mary, mayd, withoutyn more stryff, Onto thi spowse thou hast him take. _Maria._ In chastyté to ledyn my lyff, I xal hym nevyr forsake, But evyr with hym abyde: And, jentylle spowse, as ȝe an seyd, Lete me levyn as a clene mayd, I xal be trewe, be not dysmayd, Bothe terme, tyme, and tyde.

_Episcopus._ Here is the holyest matremony that evyr was in this werd, The hyȝ names of oure lord we wole now syng hy, We alle wole this solempn dede recorde Devowtly. Alma chorus Domini nunc pangat nomina Summi! Now goth hom alle in Godys name, Where as ȝour wonyng was before; Maydenys, to lete here go alone it wore shame, It wold hevy ȝour hertes sore: ȝe xal blysse the tyme that sche was bore, Now loke ȝe at hom here brynge. _Maria._ To have ȝour blyssyng, ffaydr, I falle ȝow before. _Episcopus._ He blysse ȝow that hath non hendyng, In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti! _Episcopus._ Joseph, thiselph art old of age, And thi wyff of age is ȝonge; And as we redyn in old sage, Many man is sclepyr of tonge. Therfore evyl langage for to swage, That ȝour good fame may leste longe, iij. dymysellys xul dwelle with ȝow in stage, With thi wyff to be evyrmore amonge. I xal these iij. here take; Susanne the fyrst xal be, Rebecca the secunde xal go with the, Sephore the thrydde,—loke that ȝe thre This maydon nevyr ȝe forsake. _Susanne._ Sere, I am redy att ȝour wylle, With this maydon for to wende. _Rebecca._ ȝour byddyng, sere, xalle ffulffyl, And ffolwe this maydon ffayr and hende. _Sephor._ To ffolwe hyre it is good skyl, And to ȝour byddynge wole I bende. _Joseph._ Now, sere buschop, hens go I wyl, For now comyth onto my mende A matere that nedful is. _Episcopus._ ffarewel, Joseph and Mary clere, I pray God kepe ȝow alle in fere, And sende ȝow grace in good manere To serve the kynge of blysse. _Maria._ ffadyr and modyr, ȝe knowe this cas, Whow that it doth now stonde with me; With myn spowse I must forth passe, And wott nevyr whan I xal ȝow se; Therfore I pray ȝow here in this plas, Of ȝour blyssynge for charyté; And I xal spede the betyr and have more gras, In what place that evyr I be; On knes to ȝow I falle. I pray ȝow, fadyr, and modyr dere, To blysse ȝour owyn dere dowtere, And pray ffor me in alle manere, And I ffor ȝow alle. _Joachym._ Almyghty God, he mote the blysse, And my blyssynge thou have also; In alle goodnesse ged the wysse, On londe or on watyr, wherevyr thou go. _Anna._ Now God the kepe from every mysse, And save the sownd in welthe from wo! I pray the, dowtyr, thou onys me kys, Or that thi modyr part the fro. I pray to God the save. I pray the, Mary, my swete chylde, Be lowe and buxhum, meke and mylde, Sad and sobyr and nothyng wylde, And Goddys blyssynge thou have. _Joachym._ fforwel, Josephe, and God ȝow spede, Wher so ȝe be in halle or boure. _Joseph._ Almyghty God, ȝour weys lede, And save ȝow sownd from alle doloure. _Anna._ Goddys grace on ȝow sprede, ffarewel, Mary, my swete fflowre, ffareweyl, Joseph, and God ȝow rede, ffareweyl my chylde and my tresowre, ffarewel, my dowtere ȝyng. _Maria._ ffarewel, fadyr and modyr dere, At ȝow I take my leve ryght here, God that sytt in hevyn so clere, Have ȝow in his kepyng. _Joseph._ Wyf, it is ful necessary this ȝe knowe, That I and my kynrede go hom before, For in sothe we have non hous of oure owe, Therfore I xal gon ordeyn and thanne come ȝow fore. We ar not ryche of werdly thynge, And ȝet of our sustenauns we xal not mys, Therfore abydyth here stylle to ȝour plesynge, To worchep ȝour God is alle ȝour blysse.

He that is and evyr xal be Of hefne and helle ryche kynge, In erth hath chosyn poverté, And alle ryches and welthis refusynge. _Maria._ Goth, husbond, in oure lordys blyssynge, He mote ȝow spede in alle ȝour nede, And I xal here abyde ȝour aȝen comynge, And on my sawtere-book I xal rede. Now blyssyd be oure Lord ffor this, Of hefne and erthe and alle that beryth lyff, I am most bound to ȝow, Lord, i-wys, ffor now I am bothe mayde and wyff.

Now, Lord God, dysspose me to prayour, That I may sey the holy psalmes of Davyth, Wheche book is clepyd the Sawtere, That I may preyse the, my God, therwith. Of the vertuys therof this is the pygth, It makyht sowles fayr, that doth it say, Angelys be steryd to help us therwith, It lytenyth therkenesse and puttyth develys away.

The song of Psalmus is Goddys dete, Synne is put awey therby; It lernyth a man vertuys ful to be, It feryth mannys herte gostly. Who that it usyth customably, It claryfieth the herte, and charyté makyth cowthe, He may not ffaylen of Goddys mercy, That hath the preysenge of God evyr in his mowthe.

O holy Psalmys! O holy book! Swetter to say than any ony! Thou lernyst hem, love Lord, that on the look, And makyst hym desyre thyngys celestly. With these halwyd psalmys, Lord, I pray the specyaly, ffor alle the creatures qwyke and dede, That thou wylt shewe to hem thi mercy, And to me specyaly that do it rede.

I have seyd sum of my sawtere, and here I am At this holy psalme in dede, “Benedixisti, Domine, terram tuam,” In this holy labore, Lord, me spede. _Joseph._ Mary, wyff and mayd most gracyous, Displese ȝow not, I pray ȝow, so long I have be. I have hyryd for us a lytyl praty hous, And ther in ryght hesely levyn wole we. Come forthe, Mary, and folwe me, To Naȝareth now wele we go, And alle the maydonys, bothe ffayr and fre, With my wyff comyth forthe also. Now lystenyth welle, wyff, what I telle the, I must gon owth hens fer the fro, I wylle go laboryn in fere countré, With trewthe to maynteyn oure housholde so. This ix. monthis thou seyst me nowth: Kepe the clene, my jentyl spowse, And alle thin maydenys in thin howse, That evyl langage I here not rowse, ffor hese love that alle hath wrought. _Maria._ I pray to God he spede ȝour way, And in sowle helthe he mote ȝow kepe, And sende ȝow helthe, bothe nyth and day, He shylde and save ȝow from al shenschepe. Now, Lord of grace, to the I pray, With morny mood on kne I krepe, Me save from synne, from tene and tray, With hert I murne, with eye I wepe. Lord God of peté, Whan I sytt in my conclave, Alle myn hert on the I have, Gracyous God, my maydenhed save, Evyr clene in chastyté.

XI. THE SALUTATION AND CONCEPTION.

_Contemplacio._ ffowre thowsand sex undryd foure ȝere I telle, Man ffor his offens and ffowle foly, Hath loyn ȝeres in the peynes of helle, And were wurthy to ly therin endlesly. But thanne xulde perysche ȝour grete mercy, Good Lord, have on man pyté, Have mende of the prayour seyd by Ysaie, Lete mercy meke thin hyest magesté.

Wolde God thou woldyst breke thin hefne myghtye, And com down here into erthe; And levyn ȝeres thre and threttye, Thyn famyt ffolke with thi ffode to fede. To staunche thi thryste lete thi syde blede, ffor erst wole not be mad redempcion. Cum vysite us in this tyme of nede, Of thi careful creatures, Lord, have compassyon!

A! woo to us wrecchis that wrecchis be, ffor God hath addyd ssorowe to sorwe; I prey the, Lorde, thi sowlys com se, How thei ly and sobbe, bothe eve and morewe. With thi blyssyd blood ffrom babys hem borwe, Thy careful creaturys cryenge in captyvyté, A! tary not, gracyous Lord, tyl it be to-morwe, The devyl hath dysceyved hem be his iniquité.

A! quod Jeremye, who xal gyff wellys to myn eynes, That I may wepe bothe day and nyght? To se oure bretheryn in so longe peynes, Here myschevys amende may thi meche myght. As grett as the se, Lord, was Adamys contryssyon ryght, ffrom oure hed is ffalle the crowne, Man is comeryd in synne, I crye to thi syght, Gracyous Lord! Gracyous Lord! Gracyous Lord, come downe!

_Virtutes._ Lord! plesyth it thin hiȝ domynacion, On man that thou made to have pyté, Patryarchys and prophetys han mad supplycacion, Oure offyse is to presente here prayeres to the. Aungelys, archaungelys, we thre That ben in the fyrst ierarchie, ffor man to thin hy magesté, Mercy! mercy! mercy! we crye.

The aungel, Lord, thou made so gloryous, Whos synne hath mad hym a devyl in helle, He mevyd man to be so contraryous, Man repentyd, and he in his obstynacye doth dwelle. Hese grete males, good Lord, repelle, And take man onto thi grace, Lete thi mercy, make hym with aungelys dwelle, Of Locyfere to restore the place.

_Pater._ Propter miseriam inopum, et gemitum pauperum nunc exurgam. ffor the wretchydnes of the nedy, And the porys lamentacion, Now xal I ryse that am Almyghty, Tyme is come of reconsyliacion, My prophetys with prayers have made supplicacion, My contryte creaturys crye alle for comforte, Alle myn aungellys in hefne, withowte cessacion, They crye that grace to man myght exorte.

_Veritas._ Lord, I am thi dowtere, Trewthe, Thou wilt se I be not lore, Thyn unkynde creatures to save were rewthe, The offens of man hath grevyd the sore. Whan Adam had synnyd, thou seydest yore, That he xulde deye and go to helle, And now to blysse hym to restore, Twey contraryes mow not togedyr dwelle.

Thy trewthe, Lord, xal leste withowtyn ende, I may in no wyse ffro the go, That wrecche that was to the so unkende, He may not have to meche wo. He dyspysyd the and plesyd thi ffo, Thou art his creatour and he is thi creature, Thou hast lovyd trewthe, it is seyd evyr mo, Therfore in peynes lete hym evyrmore endure.

_Misericordia._ O ffadyr of mercye and God of comforte, That counselle us in eche trybulacion, Lete ȝour dowtere Mercy to ȝow resorte, And on man that is myschevyd have compassyon. Hym grevyth fful gretly his transgressyon, Alle hefne and erthe crye ffor mercy, Me semyth ther xuld be non excepcion, Ther prayers ben offeryd so specyally.

Threwthe sseyth she hath evyr be than, I graunt it wel she hath be so, And thou seyst endlesly that mercy thou hast kept ffor man, Than mercyabyl lorde, kepe us bothe to, Thu seyst _veritas mea et misericordia mea cum ipso_, Suffyr not thi sowlys than in sorwe to slepe, That helle hownde that hatyth the byddyth hym ho, Thi love man no lengere lete hym kepe.

_Justicia._ Mercy, me mervelyth what ȝow movyth, ȝe know wel I am ȝour syster Ryghtwysnes, God is ryghtfful and ryghtffulnes lovyth, Man offendyd hym that is endles, Therfore his endles punchement may nevyr sees; Also he forsoke his makere that made hym of clay, And the devyl to his mayster he ches, Xulde he be savyd? nay! nay! nay!

As wyse as is God he wolde a be, This was the abhomynabyl presumpcion, It is seyd, ȝe know wel this of me, That the ryghtwysnes of God hath no diffynicion. Therffore late this be oure conclusyon, He that sore synnyd ly stylle in sorwe, He may nevyr make a subtyl resone, Whoo myght thanne thens hym borwe.

_Misericordia._ Syster Ryghtwysnes, ȝe are to vengeabyl, Endles synne God endles may restore, Above alle hese werkys, God is mercyabyl, Thow he forsook God be synne, be feyth he forsook hym never the more. And thow he presumyd nevyr so sore, ȝe must consyder the frelnes of mankende, Lerne and ȝe lyst, this is Goddys lore, The mercy of God is withowtyn ende.

_Pax._ To spare ȝour speches, systeres, it syt, It is not onest in vertuys to ben dyscencion, The pes of God ovyrcomyth alle wytt, Thou Trewthe and Ryght sey grett reson. ȝett Mercy seyth best to my pleson, ffor yf mannys sowle xulde abyde in helle, Betwen God and man evyr xulde be dyvysyon, And than myght not I Pes dwelle.

Therefore me semyth best ȝe thus acorde, Than hefne and erthe ȝe xul qweme, Putt bothe ȝour sentens in oure Lorde, And in his hyȝ wysdam lete hym deme. This is most fyttynge me xulde seme, And lete se how we ffowre may alle abyde, That mannys sowle it xulde perysche it wore sweme, Or that ony of us ffro othere xulde dyvyde.

_Veritas._ In trowthe hereto I consente, I wole prey oure lorde it may so be. _Justicia._ I Ryghtwysnes am wele contente, ffor in hym is very equyté. _Misericordia._ And I Mercy ffro this counsel wole not fle, Tyl wysdam hath seyd I xal ses. _Pax._ Here is God now, here is unyté, Hefne and erthe is plesyd with pes.

_ffilius._ I thynke the thoughtys of Pes and nowth of wykkydnes, This I deme to ses ȝour contraversy, If Adam had not deyd, peryschyd had Ryghtwysnes, And also Trewthe had be lost therby. Trewth and Ryght wolde chastyse ffoly, ȝiff another deth come not, Mercy xulde perysche, Than Pes were exyled ffynyaly, So tweyn dethis must be ȝow fowre to cherysche, But he that xal deye ȝe must knawe, That in hym may ben non iniquyté, That helle may holde hym be no lawe, But that he may pas at hese lyberté. Qwere swyche on his prevyde and se, And hese deth for mannys dethe xal be redempcion, Alle hefne and erthe seke now ȝe, Plesyth it ȝow this conclusyon.

_Veritas._ I, Trowthe, have sowte the erthe withowt and withinne, And in sothe ther kan non be fownde, That is of o day byrth withowte synne, Nor to that dethe wole be bownde. _Misericordia._ I, Mercy, have ronne the hevynly regyon rownde, And ther is non of that charyté, That ffor man wole suffre a deddly wounde, I cannott wete how this xal be.

_Justicia._ Sure I can fynde non sufficyent, ffor servauntys unprofytable we be eche one, Hes love nedyth to be ful ardent, That for man to helle wolde gon. _Pax._ That God may do is non but on, Therfore this is be hys avyse, He that ȝaff this counselle lete hym ȝeve the comforte alon, ffor the conclusyon in hym of alle these lyse.

_ffilius._ It peyneth me that man I mad, That is to seyn peyne I must suffre sore, A counsel of the Trinité must be had, Whiche of us xal man restore. _Pater._ In ȝour wysdam, son, man was mad thore, And in wysdam was his temptacion, Therfor, sone, sapyens ȝe must ordeyn herefore, And se how of man may be salvation.

_Filius._ ffadyr, he that xal do this must be bothe God and man, Lete me se how I may were that wede, And sythe in my wysdam he began, I am redy to do this dede. _Spiritus Sanctus._ I the Holy Gost of ȝow tweyn do procede, This charge I wole take on me, I love to ȝour lover xal ȝow lede, This is the assent of oure unyté.

_Misericordia._ Now is the loveday mad of us fowre fynialy, Now may we leve in pes as we were wonte: Misericordia et Veritas obviaverunt sibi, Justicia et Pax osculatæ sunt.

_Et hic osculabunt pariter omnes._

_Pater._ ffrom us, God, aungel Gabryel, thou xalte be sende, Into the countré of Galylé, The name of the cyté Naȝareth is kende, To a mayd, weddyd to a man is she. Of whom the name is Joseph se, Of the hous of Davyd bore, The name of the mayd ffre, Is Mary that xal al restore.

_ffilius._ Say that she is withowte wo and ful of grace, And that I the son of the Godhed of here xal be bore. Hyȝe the thou were there apace, Ellys we xal be there the before. I have so grett hast to be man thore, In that mekest and purest virgyne, Sey here she xal restore, Of ȝow aungellys the grett ruyne.

_Spiritus Sanctus._ And if she aske the how it myth be, Telle her I the Holy Gost xal werke al this, Sche xal be savyd thorwe oure unyté, In tokyn here bareyn cosyn Elyȝabeth is Qwyk with childe, in here grett age i-wys; Sey here to us is nothynge impossyble, Her body xal be so ful fylt with blys, That she xal sone thynke this sownde credyble.

_Gabriel._ In thyn hey inbasset, Lord, I xal go, It xal be do with a thought, Beholde now, Lord, I go here to, I take my flyth and byde nowth.

_Ave Maria gratia plena, Dominus tecum!_

Heyl, fful of grace, God is with the, Amonge alle women blyssyd art thu; Here this name Eva is turnyd Ave, That is to say withowte sorwe ar ȝe now.

Thow sorwe in ȝow hath no place, ȝett of joy, lady, ȝe nede more, Therfore I adde and sey “fful of grace,” ffor so ful of grace was nevyr non bore. ȝett who hath grace, he nedyth kepyng sore, Therfore I sey “God is with the,” Whiche xal kepe ȝow endlesly thore, So amonge alle women blyssyd are ȝe.

_Maria._ A! mercy God, this is a mervelyous herynge; In the aungelys wordys I am trobelyd her, I think how may be this gretynge, Aungelys dayly to me doth aper. But not in the lyknes of man that is my fer, And also thus hyȝly to comendyd be, And am most unwirthy, I cannot answere, Grett shamfastnes and grett dred is in me.

_Gabryel._ Mary, in this take ȝe no drede, ffor at God grace ffownde have ȝe, ȝe xal conceyve in ȝour wombe indede A childe, the sone of the Trynyté. His name of ȝow Jhesu clepyd xal be, He xall be grett, the son of the hyest clepyd of kende, And of his ffadyr, Davyd, the Lord xal ȝeve hym the se, Reynyng in the hous of Jacob, of whiche regne xal be non ende.

_Maria._ Aungel, I sey to ȝow, In what manere of wyse xal this be? ffor knowyng of man I have non now, I have evyrmore kept and xal my virginyté. I dowte not the wordys ȝe han seyd to me, But I aske it xal be do. _Gabryel._ The Holy Gost xal come fro above to the, And the vertu of hym hyest xal schadu the so.

Therfore that Holy Gost of the xal be bore, He xal be clepyd the son of God sage; And se Elyȝabeth ȝour cosyn thore, She hath conseyvid a son in hyre age; This is the sexte monyth of here passage, Of here that clepyd was bareyn:— Nothynge is impossyble to Goddys usage. They thynkyth longe to here what ȝe wyl seyn.

_Here the aungel makyth a lytyl restynge, and Mary beholdyth hym, and the Aungel seythe_,

Mary, come of, and haste the, And take hede in thyn entent, Whow the Holy gost, blyssyd he be! Abydyth thin answere and thin assent; Thorwe wyse werke of dyvinyté, The secunde persone verament Is mad man by fraternyté, Withinne thiself in place present.

fferthermore take hede this space; Whow alle the blyssyd spyrytys of vertu, That are in hefne byffore Goddys face, And alle the gode levers and trew That are here in this erthely place, Thyn owyn kynrede, the sothe ho knew, And the chosyn sowlys, this tyme of grace, That are in helle, and byde ther rescu.

As Adam, Abraham, and Davyd in fere, And many othere of good reputacion, That thin answer desyre to here, And thin assent to the Incarnacion, In whiche thou standyst as persevere, Of alle mankende savacion; Gyff me myn answere now, lady dere, To alle these creatures comfortacion.

_Maria._ With alle mekenes I clyne to this acorde, Bowynge down my face with alle benyngnyté; Se here the hand-mayden of oure Lorde, Aftyr thi worde be it don to me. _Gabryel._ Gramercy, my lady ffre, Gramercy of ȝour answere on hyght, Gramercy of ȝour grett humylyté, Gramercy, ȝe lanterne of lyght.

_Here the Holy Gost discendit with iij. bemys to our Lady, the sone of the Godhed vest with iij. bemys to the Holy Gost, the fadyr Godly with iij. bemys to the sone, and so entre alle thre to her bosom, and Mary seyth_,

_Maria._ A! now I ffele in my body be Parfyte God and parfyte man, Havyng alle schappe of chyldly carnalyté, Evyn al at onys thus God began.

Nott takynge ffyrst o membyr and sythe another, But parfyte childhod ȝe have anon; Of ȝour handmayden now ȝe have mad ȝour modyr, Withowte peyne in fflesche and bon. Thus conceyved nevyr woman non, That evyr was beynge in this lyff; O, myn hyest ffadyr, in ȝour trone, It is worthy ȝour son, now my son, have a prerogatyff.

I cannot telle what joy, what blysse, Now I fele in my body! Aungel Gabryel, I thank ȝow for thys, Most mekely recomende me to my faderes mercy. To have be the modyr of God fful lytyl wend I,— Now myn cosyn Elyȝabeth ffayn wold I se, How sche hath conseyvid as ȝe dede specyfy, Now blyssyd be the hyȝ Trynyté.

_Gabryel._ ffareweyl, turtyl, Goddys dowtere dere, ffarewel, Goddys modyr, I the honowre, ffarewel, Goddys sustyr, and his pleynge fere, ffarewel, Goddys chawmere and his bowre. _Maria._ ffarewel, Gabryel, specyalye, ffarewel, Goddys masangere expresse, I thank ȝow for ȝour traveyl hye, Gramercy of ȝour grett goodnes.

And namely of ȝour comfortabyl massage, ffor I undyrstande by inspyracion, That ȝe knowe by syngulere prevylage, Most of my sonys incarnacion. I pray ȝow take it into usage, Be a custom ocupacion, To vesyte me ofte be mene passage,— ȝour presence is my comfortacion.

_Gabriel._ At ȝour wyl, lady, so xal it be, ȝe gentyllest of blood and hyest of kynrede, That reynyth in erthe in ony degré, Be pryncypal incheson of the Godhede.

I comende me onto ȝow, thou trone of the Trinyté, O mekest mayde, now the modyr of Jhesu; Qwen of hefne, lady of erthe, and empres of helle be ȝe, Socour to alle synful that wole to ȝow sew. Thoro ȝour body beryth the babe oure blysse xal renew, To ȝow, modyr of mercy, most mekely I recomende; And as I began, I ende with an Ave new, Enjonyd hefne and erthe with that I ascende.

_Angeli cantando istam sequenciam:—_

Ave Maria gratia plena! Dominus tecum, virgo serena!

XII. JOSEPH’S RETURN.

_Joseph._ How, dame, how! undo ȝoure dore, undo! Are ȝe at hom? why speke ȝe notht? _Susanna._ Who is ther? why cry ȝe so? Telle us ȝour herand. Wyl ȝe ought? _Joseph._ Undo ȝour dore, I sey ȝow to, ffor to com in is alle my thought. _Maria._ It is my spowse that spekyth us to; Ondo the dore, his wyl were wrought. Wellecome hom, myn husbond dere, How have ȝe ferd in fer countré? _Joseph._ To gete oure levynge withowtyn dwere, I have sore laboryd ffor the and me. _Maria._ Husbond, ryght gracyously now come be ȝe, It solacyth me sore sothly to se ȝow in syth. _Joseph._ Me merveylyth, wyff, surely ȝour face I cannot se, But as the sonne with his bemys qwhan he is most bryth. _Maria._ Husbond, it is as it plesyth oure Lord, that grace of hym grew, Who that evyr beholdyth me veryly, They xall be grettly steryd to vertu, ffor this ȝyfte and many moo, good Lord, gramercy. _Joseph._ How hast thou ferde, jentyl mayde, Whyl I have be out of londe? _Maria._ Sekyr, sere, beth nowth dysmayde, Ryth aftyr the wyl of Goddys sonde. _Joseph._ That semyth evyl, I am afrayd, Thi wombe to hyȝe doth stonde. I dred me sore I am betrayd, Sum other man the had in honde, Hens sythe that I went. Thy wombe is gret, it gynnyth to ryse, Than hast thou begownne a synfulle gyse, Telle me now in what wyse, Thyself thou hast thus schent.