Part 9

Sym Somnere, in hast wend thou thi way,— Byd Joseph and his wyff be name At the coorte to appere this day, Here hem to pourge of her defame. Sey that I here of hem grett schame, And that doth me gret hevynes; If thei be clene withowtyn blame, Byd hem come hedyr and shew wyttnes. _Den._ Alle redy, sere; I xal hem calle, Here at ȝour courte for to appere; And yf I may hem mete withalle, I hope ryght sone thei xal ben here. Awey, seres, lete me com nere, A man of wurchep here comyth to place, Of curtesy me semyth ȝe be to lere, Do of ȝour hodys with an evyl grace. Do me sum wurchep befor my face, Or be my trowthe I xal ȝow make, If that I rolle ȝow up in my race, ffor fere I xal do ȝour ars qwake. But ȝit sum mede and ȝe me take, I wyl withdrawe my gret rough toth, Gold or sylvyr I wyl not forsake, But evyn as alle somnores doth.

A! Joseph, good day, with thi ffayr spowse, My lorde the buschop hath for ȝow sent; It is hym tolde that in thin house, A cockoldeis bowe is eche nyght bent. He that shett the bolt is lyke to be schent:— ffayre mayde, that tale ȝe kan best telle; Now be ȝoure trowthe telle ȝour entent, Dede not the archere plese ȝow ryght welle? _Maria._ Of God in hevyn I take wyttnes, That synful werk was nevyr my thought; I am a mayd ȝit of pure clennes, Lyke as I was into this werd brought. _Den._ Othyr wyttnes xal non be sought, Thou art with childe, eche man may se; I charge ȝow bothe ȝe tary nought, But to the buschop com forth with me. _Joseph._ To the buschop with ȝow we wende, Of oure purgacion have we no dowth. _Maria._ Almyghty God xal be oure frende, Whan the trewthe is tryed owth. _Den._ ȝa no this wyse excusyth here every scowte, Whan here owyn synne hem doth defame; But lowly than thei gyn to lowth, Whan thei be gylty and fowndyn in blame.

Therfore com forthe, cokewolde be name, The busschop xal ȝour lyff appose; Com forth also, ȝe goodly dame, A clene huswyff, as I suppose. I xal ȝow tellyn, withowtyn glose, And ȝe were myn withowtyn lak; I wolde eche day beschrewe ȝour nose, And ȝe dede brynge me suche a pak.

My lord the buschop, here have I brought This goodly copyl, at ȝour byddyng; And as me semyth as be here fraught, “ffayr chylde, lullay,” sone must she syng. _Primus detractor._ To here a credyl and ȝe wolde brynge, ȝe myght save monye in here purse; Becawse she is ȝour cosyn ȝynge, I pray ȝow, sere, lete her nevyr fare the wers. _Episcopus._ Alas! Mary, what hast thou wrought? I am aschamyd evyn for thi sake; How hast thou chaungyd thin holy thought? Dude old Joseph with strenght the take? Or hast thou chosyn another make, By whom thou art thus brought in schame? Telle me who hath wrought this wrake;— How hast thou lost thi holy name? _Maria._ My name, I hope, is saff and sownde, God to wyttnes I am a mayd! Of ffleschly lust and gostly wownde, In dede nere thought I nevyr asayd. _Primus doctor legis._ How xulde thi wombe thus be arayd, So grettly swollyn as that it is? But if sum man the had ovyr-layd, Thi wombe xulde never be so gret i-wys. _Secundus doctor legis._ Herke thou, Joseph, I am afrayd That thou hast wrought this opyn synne; This woman thou hast thus betrayd, With gret flaterynge or sum fals gynne. _Secundus detractor._ Now be myn trowthe ȝe hytte the pynne, With that purpose in feyth I holde; Telle now how thou thus dudyst wynne, Or knowlyche thiself ffor a cockewold. _Joseph._ Sche is for me a trewe clene mayde, And I for hire am clene also; Of fflesschly synne I nevyr asayde, Sythyn that sche was weddyd me to. _Episcopus._ Thou xalt not schape from us ȝitt so; ffyrst thou xalte tellyn us another lay; Streyt to the awter thou xalt go, The drynge of vengeawns ther to asay.

Here is the botel of Goddys vengeauns;— Thys drynk xal be now thi purgacion; This hath suche vertu by Goddys ordenauns, That what man drynk of this potacion, And gothe serteyn in processyon, Here in this place this awtere abowth, If he be gylty, sum maculacion Pleyn in his face xal shewe it owth.

Iff thou be gylty, telle us, lete se, Over Godys myght be not to bolde: If thou presume and gylty be, God thou dost greve many a folde. _Joseph._ I am not gylty, as I fyrst tolde, Allemyghty God I take wytnes! _Episcopus._ Than this drynke in hast thou holde, And on processyon anon the dresse.

_Hic Joseph bibit et septies circuivit altare dicens_,

_Joseph._ This drynk I take with meke entent, As I am gyltles, to God I pray,— Lord! as thou art omnypotente, On me thou shewe the trowthe this day. (_Modo bibit._) About this awtere I take the way, O gracyous God! help thi servaunt, As I am gyltles aȝen ȝon may, Thin hand of mercy this tyme me graunt!

_Den._ This olde shrewe may not wele gon, Longe he taryeth to go abowth; Lyfte up thi feet, sett forthe thi ton, Or be my trewthe thou getyst a clowte! _Secundus detractor._ Now, sere evyl Thedom, com to thi snowte! What heylyght thi leggys now to be lame? Thou dedyst hem put ryght freschly owte, Whan thou dedyst play with ȝon ȝonge dame.

_Primus detractor._ I pray to God gyf hym myschawns, Hese leggys here do folde for age; But with this damysel whan he dede dawns, The olde charle had ryght gret corage. _Den._ The shrewe was than sett in a dotage, And had good lust that tyme to pleyn; ȝaff sche not ȝow cowdel to potage, Whan ȝe had don, to comforte ȝour brayn?

_Joseph._ A! gracyous God, help me this tyde, Ageyn this pepyl that me doth fame; As I nevyr more dede toche where syde, This day help me fro werdly schame! Abowte this awtere to kepe my fame, Vij. tymes I have gon rownd abowte; If I be wurthy to suffyr blame, O ryghtful God, my synne shewe owughte.

_Episcopus._ Joseph, with hert thank God thi Lorde, Whos heyȝ mercy doth the excuse; ffor thi purgacion we xal recorde, With hyre of synne thou dedyst never muse. But, Mary, thiself mayst not refuse; Alle grett with chylde we se the stonde, What mystyr man dede the mysuse, Why hast thou synnyd ageyn thin husbonde?

_Maria._ I trespacyd nevyr with erthely wyght; Therof I hope, thorowe Goddys sonde, Here to be purgyd before ȝour syght, ffrom alle synne clene, lyke as myn husbonde. Take me the botel out of ȝour honde, Here xal I drynke beforn ȝour face; Abowth this awtere than xal I fonde, Vij. tymes to go, by Godys grace.

_Primus doctor legis._ Se this bolde bysmare wolde presume, Ageyn God to preve his myght! Thow Goddys vengeauns hyre xuld consume, Sche wyl not telle hyre fals delyght. Thou art with chylde, we se in syght, To us thi wombe the doth accuse. Ther was nevyr woman ȝitt in suche plyght, That ffrom mankynde hyre kowde excuse.

_Primus detractor._ In ffeyth I suppose that this woman slepte Withowtyn alle coverte, whylle that it dede snowe, And a flake therof into hyre mowthe crepte, And therof the chylde in hyre wombe doth growe. _Secundus detractor._ Than beware dame, for this is wel i-knowe Whan it is born, yf that the sunne shyne, It wyl turne to watyr ageyn, as I trowe, ffor snow onto watyr do the evyr more reclyne.

_Secundus doctor legis._ With Goddys hyȝ myght, loke thou not jape, Of thi purgacion wel the avyse; Yf thou be gylty, thou mayst not schape, Beware evyr of God, that ryghtful justyce. If God with vengeauns set on the his syse, Not only thou but alle thi kyn is schamyd; Bettyr it is to telle the trewthe devyse, Than God for to greve and of him be gramyd.

_Maria._ I trostyn in his grace, I xal hym nevyr greve, His servaunt I am in worde, dede, and thought; A mayd undefyled I hope he xal me preve, I pray ȝow lett me nought. _Episcopus._ Now be that good Lord, that alle this werd hath wrought, If God on the shewe ony manyr tokyn, Purgacion I trowe was nevyr so dere bowth, If I may on the in any wyse be wrokyn.

Holde here the botel and take a large draught, And abowth the awtere go thi processyon. _Marya._ To God in this case my cawse I have be-taught, Lorde, thorwe thin helpe, I drynke of this potacyon.

_Hic beata virgo bibit de potacione, et postea circuivit altare, dicens_,

God, as I nevyr knew of mannys maculacion, But evyr have lyved in trew virginité, Send me this day thin holy consolacion, That alle this fayr peple my clennes may se. O gracyous God, as thou hast chose me, ffor to be thi modyr, of me to be born! Save thi tabernacle that clene is kepte for the, Whiche now am put at repref and skorn. Gabryel me tolde with wordys he beforn, That ȝe of ȝour goodnes wold become my chylde; Help now of ȝour hyȝness, my wurchep be not lorn, A! dere sone, I pray ȝow, help ȝour modyr mylde.

_Episcopus._ Almyghty God, what may this mene, ffor alle the drynke of Goddys potacyon, This woman with chylde is fayr and clene, Withowtyn fowle spotte, or maculacion. I cannat, be non ymagynacion, Preve hyre gylty and synful of lyff; It shewit opynly, by here purgacion, Sche is clene mayde, bothe modyr and wyff!

_Primus detractor._ Be my fadyr sowle here is gret gyle, Because sche is syb of ȝour kynreed; The drynk is chaungyd by sum fals wyle, That sche no shame xulde have this steed. _Episcopus._ Becawse thou demyst that we do falshede, And for thou dedyst hem fyrst defame; Thou xalt ryght here, magré thin heed, Beforn alle this pepyl, drynk of the same.

_Primus detractor._ Syr, in good ffeyth oo draught I pulle, If these to drynkeres have not alle spent.

_Hic bibit et scenciens dolorem in capite cadit, et dicit_,

Out, out, alas! what heylith my sculle, A! myn heed with ffyre me thynkyht is brent! Mercy, good Mary, I do me repent, Of my cursyd and ffals langage. _Maria._ Now, God, Lord in hevyn omnypotent, Of his grett mercy ȝour seknes aswage.

_Episcopus._ We alle on knes ffalle here on grownd, Thou Goddys handemayd prayng for grace; Alle cursyd langage and schame on sownd, Good Mary, fforȝeve us here in this place. _Maria._ Now God forȝeve ȝow alle ȝowre trespace, And also forȝeve ȝow alle defamacion That ȝe have sayd, bothe more and lesse, To myn hynderawnce and maculacion.

_Episcopus._ Now blyssyd virgyne, we thank ȝow alle Of ȝoure good hert and gret pacyens; We wyl go with ȝow hom to ȝour halle, To do ȝow servys with hyȝ reverens. _Maria._ I thank ȝow hertyly of ȝour benevolens, Onto ȝour owyn hous I pray ȝow ȝe goo. And take this pepyl hom with ȝow hens, I am not dysposyd to passyn hens froo.

_Episcopus._ Than ffarewel, mayden and pure virgyne, Farewel, trewe handmayd of God in blys! We alle to ȝow lowly inclyne, And take oure leve of ȝow, as wurthy is. _Maria._ Allemyghty God, ȝour weys wysse, ffor that hyȝ lord is most of myght, He mote ȝow spede, that ȝe not mys, In hevyn of hym to have a syght.

_Joseph._ Honouryd in hevyn be that hyȝ lorde, Whos endles grace is so habundaunt, That he doth shewe the trewe recorde Of iche wyhgt that is his trewe servaunt. That Lord to wurchepe with hert plesaunt, We bothe be bownd ryght on this place, Whiche oure purgacyon us dyde graunt, And prevyd us pure by hieȝ grace.

_Maria._ fforsothe, good spowse, I thank hym hyȝly, Of his good grace ffor our purgacion! Oure clennes is knowyn ful opynly, Be vertu of his grett consolacion.

XV. THE BIRTH OF CHRIST.

_Joseph._ Lord, what travayl to man is wrought! Rest in this werd behovyth hym non; Octavyan oure emperor sadly hath besought Oure trybute hym to bere, ffolk must forth ichon, It is cryed in every bourgh and cety be name; I that am a pore tymbre wryth, born of the blood of Davyd, The emperores comawndement I must holde with, And ellys I were to blame.

Now, my wyff Mary, what sey ȝe to this? For sekyr, nedys I must fforth wende Onto the cyté of Bedleem, ffer hens i-wys;— Thus to labore I must my body bende. _Maria._ Myn husbond and my spowse, with ȝow wyl I wende, A syght of that cyté ffayn wolde I se; If I myght of myn alye ony ther ffynde, It wold be grett joye onto me.

_Joseph._ My spowse, ȝe be with childe, I fere ȝow to kary, ffor me semyth it were werkys wylde; But ȝow to plese ryght ffayn wold I, ȝitt women benethe to greve whan thei be with childe. Now latt us fforth wende as ffast as we may, And almyghty God spede us in oure jurnay! _Maria._ A! my swete husbond, wolde ȝe telle to me, What tre is ȝon standynge upon ȝon hylle? _Josephe._ fforsothe, Mary, it is clepyd a chery tre; In tyme of ȝere ȝe myght ffede ȝow theron ȝour ffylle. _Maria._ Turne ageyn, husbond, and behold ȝon tre, How that it blomyght now so swetly. _Joseph._ Cum on, Mary, that we worn at ȝon cyté; Or ellys we may be blamyd, I telle ȝow lythly. _Maria._ Now, my spowse, I pray ȝow to behold, How the cheryes growyn upon ȝon tre; ffor to have therof ryght ffayn I wold, And it plesyd ȝow to labore so meche for me. _Joseph._ ȝour desyre to ffulfylle I xal assay sekyrly, Ow to plucke ȝow of these cheries; it is a werk wylde, ffor the tre is so hyȝ it wol not be lyghtly, Therfore lete hym pluk ȝow cheryes begatt ȝow with childe. _Maria._ Now, good Lord, I pray the graunt me this boun, To have of these cheries, and it be ȝour wylle: Now, I thank it God, this tre bowyth to me downe! I may now gaderyn anowe, and etyn my ffylle. _Josephe._ Ow, I know weyl I have offendyd my God in Trinyté, Spekyng to my spowse these unkynde wurdys; ffor now I beleve wel it may non other be, But that my spowse beryght the kyngys son of blys; He help us now at oure nede! Of the kynrede of Jesse worthely were ȝe bore, Kynges and patryarkys ȝow beffore, Alle these wurthy of ȝour kynred wore, As clerkys in story rede. _Maria._ Now, gramercy, husbond, for ȝour report! In oure weys wysely late us forth wende; The fadyr allemyghty he be oure comfort! The Holy Gost gloryous he be oure frende! _Joseph._ Heyl, wurchepful sere, and good day! A ceteceyn of this cyté ȝe seme to be; Of herborwe ffor spowse and me I ȝow pray, ffor trewly this woman is fful weré, And fayn at reste, sere, wold she be; We wolde ffulffylle the byddynge of oure emperoure, ffor to pay trybute, as ryght is oure, And to kepe oureselfe ffrom dolowre, We are come to this cyté. _Cives._ Sere, ostage in this towne know I non, Thin wyff and thou in for to slepe; This ceté is besett with pepyl every won, And ȝett thei ly withowte fful every strete.

Withinne no walle, man, comyst thou nowth, Be thou onys withinne the cyté gate; On ethys in the strete a place may be sowth, Theron to reste, withowte debate. _Joseph._ Nay, sere, debate that wyl I nowth; Alle suche thyngys passyn my powere: But ȝitt my care and alle my thought Is for Mary, my derlynge dere.

A! swete wyff, what xal we do? Wher xal we logge this nyght? Onto the ffadyr of heffne pray we so, Us to kepe ffrom every wykkyd whyt. _Cives._ Good man, o word I wyl the sey, If thou wylt do by the counsel of me; ȝondyr is an hous of haras that stant be the wey, Amonge the bestys herboryd may ȝe be. _Maria._ Now the fadyr of hefne he mut ȝow ȝelde! His sone in my wombe forsothe he is; He kepe the and thi good be fryth and ffelde! Go we hens, husbond, for now tyme it is. But herk now, good husbond, a newe relacyon, Whiche in myself I know ryght welle; Cryst in me hath take incarnacion, Sone wele be borne, the trowthe I fele.

In this pore logge my chawmere I take, Here for to abyde the blyssyd byrthe Of hym that alle this werd dude make,— Betwyn myn sydes I fele he styrthe. _Joseph._ God be thin help, spowse, it swemyth me sore, Thus febyly loggyd and in so pore degré, Goddys sone amonge bestys ffor to be bore; His woundyr werkys ffulfyllyd must be! In an hous that is desolat, withowty any walle, ffyer nor wood non here is. _Maria._ Joseph, myn husbond, abydyn here I xal, ffor here wyl be born the kynges sone of blys! _Joseph._ Now, jentyll wyff, be of good myrthe, And if ȝe wyl owght have, telle me what ȝe thynk; I xal not spare for schep nor derthe,— Now telle me ȝour lust of mete and drynk. _Maria._ ffor mete and drynk lust I ryght nowth, Allemyghty God my fode xal be! Now that I am in chawmere brought, I hope ryght welle my chylde to se. Therfore husbond, of ȝour honesté, Avoyd ȝow hens out of this place; And I alone, with humylité, Here xal abyde Goddys hyȝ grace. _Joseph._ Alleredy, wyff, ȝow for to plese I wyl go hens out of ȝour way; And seke sum mydwyvys ȝow for to ese, Whan that ȝe travayle of childe this day. ffarewelle, trewe wyff, and also clene may, God be ȝour comforte in Trinyté! _Maria._ To God in hevyn for ȝow I pray, He ȝow preserve wherso ȝe be!

_Hic dum Joseph est absens parit Maria filium unigenitum._

_Joseph._ Now God, of whom comythe the alle releffe, And as alle grace in the is grownde, So save my wyff from hurt and greffe, Tyl I sum mydwyvys for here have fownde! Travelynge women in care be bownde, With grete throwys whan thei do grone; God, helpe my wyff that sche not swownde! I am ful sory sche is alone.

It is not convenient a man to be Ther women gon in travalynge; Wherfore sum mydwyff ffayn wold I se, My wyff to helpe that is so ȝenge. _ȝelomy._ Why makyst thou man suche mornyng? Telle me sumdele of ȝour gret mone. _Joseph._ My wyf is now in gret longynge, Travelyng of chylde, and is alone: ffor Godys love that sytt in trone, As ȝe, mydwyvys, that kan ȝour good, Help my ȝonge spowse in hast anone,— I drede me sore of that fayr food. _Salome._ Be of good chere and of glad mood, We ij. mydwyvys with the wylle go; Ther was nevyr woman in suche plyght stood, But we were redy here help to do.

My name is Salomee, alle men me knowe ffor a mydwyff of wurthy fame; Whan women travayl, grace doth growe, Ther as I come I had nevyr shame. _ȝelomye._ And I am ȝelomye, men knowe my name; We tweyn with the wyl go togedyr, And help thi wyff fro hurt and grame; Come forthe, Joseph, go we streythe thedyr. _Joseph._ I thank ȝow, damys, ȝe comforte my lyff, Streyte to my spowse walke we the way. In this pore logge lyght Mary my wyff; Hyre for to comforte, gode frendys, asay. _Salome._ We dare not entre this logge in fay, Ther is therin so gret bryghtnes,— Mone be nyght nor sunne be day Shone nevyr so clere in ther lyghtnesse. _ȝelomye._ Into this hous dare I not gon, The woundyrffulle lyght doth me affray. _Joseph._ Than wyl myself gon in alon, And chere my wyff, if that I may; Alle heyl, maydon and wyff, I say! How dost thou fare? telle me thi chere! The for to comforte in gesyne this day, Tweyn gode mydwyvis I have brought here. The for to helpe that art in harde bonde, ȝelomye and Salomee be come with me,— ffor dowte of drede withowte thei do stond, And dare not come in for lyght that they se.

_Hic Maria subridendo dicat, Maria._

_Maria._ The myght of the Godhede in his magesté Wyl not be hyd now at this whyle; The chylde that is born wyl preve his modyr fre, A very clene mayde, and therfore I smyle. _Joseph._ Why do ȝe lawghe, wyff? ȝe be to blame; I pray ȝow, spowse, do no more so; In happ the mydwyvys wyl take it to grame, And at ȝour nede helpe wele non do. Iff ȝe have nede of mydwyvys, lo! Peraventure thei wyl gon hens: Therfor be sad and ȝe may so, And wynnyth alle the mydwyvis good diligens. _Maria._ Husbond, I pray ȝow dysplese ȝow nowth, Thow that I lawghe and gret joye have; Here is the chylde this werde hath wrought, Born now of me, that alle thynge xal save. _Joseph._ I aske ȝow grace, for I dyde rave! O gracyous childe, I aske mercy! As thou art Lord and I but knave, fforȝeve me now my gret foly!

Alas! mydwyvis, what have I seyd? I pray ȝow come to us more nere; ffor here I fynde my wyff a mayd, And in here arme a chylde hath here. Bothe mayd and modyr sche is in ffere, That God wole have may nevyr more fayle; Modyr on erthe was nevyr non cler, Withowth sche had in byrthe travayle. _ȝelomy._ In byrth travayle muste sche nedys have, Or ellys no chylde of here is born. _Joseph._ I pray ȝow, dame, and ȝe vowchesave, Com se the chylde my wyff beforn. _Salome._ Grete God be in this place! Swete systyr, how fare ȝe? _Maria._ I thank the fadyr of his hyȝ grace, His owyn son and my chylde here ȝe may se. _ȝelomye._ Alle heyl, Mary, and ryght good morn! Who was mydwyfe of this ffayr chylde? _Maria._ He that nothynge wyl have forlorne Sent me this babe, and I mayde mylde. _ȝelomye._ With honde lete me now towche and fele, Yf ȝe have nede of medycyne; I xal ȝow comforte and helpe ryght wele, As other women, yf ȝe have pyne. _Maria._ Of this fayr byrthe that here is myn, Peyne nere grevynge fele I ryght non! I am clene mayde and pure virgyn, Tast with ȝour hand ȝourself alon.

_Hic palpat ȝelomye beatam virginem, dicens_,

_ȝelomy._ O myghtfulle God, have mercy on me! A merveyle that nevyr was herd beforn! Here opynly I fele and se A fayr chylde of a maydon is borne, And nedyth no waschynge, as other don,— fful clene and pure forsothe is he; Withoutyn spott or ony polucyon, His modyr nott hurte of virgynité!

Coom nere, gode systyr Salome, Beholde the brestys of this clene mayd, fful of fayr mylke how that thei be, And hyre chylde clene, as I fyrst sayd; As other ben nowth fowle arayd, But clene and pure, bothe modyr and chylde; Of this matyr I am dysmayd To se them bothe thus undefyled. _Salome._ It is not trewe; it may nevyr be That both be clene, I cannot beleve: A maydes milke never man dyde se, Ne woman here chylde withowte grett greve.

I xal nevyr trowe it, but I it preve, With hand towchynge but I assay; In my conscience it may nevyr cleve, The sche hath chylde and is a may. _Maria._ ȝow for to putt clene out of dowth, Towche with ȝour hand and wele asay: Wysely ransake and trye the trewthe owth, Whethyr I be fowlyd, or a clene may.

_Hic tangit Salomee Mariæ, et cum arescerit manus ejus ulverando, et, quasi flendo, dicit_,

_Salomee._ Alas! alas! and weleawaye! ffor my grett dowth and fals beleve, Myne hand is ded and drye as claye! My fals untrost hath wrought myscheve!

Alas! the tyme that I was born, Thus to offende aȝens Goddys myght! Myn handys power is now alle lorn, Styff as a stykke and may nowth plyght. ffor I dede tempte this mayde so bryght, And helde aȝens here pure clennes, In grett myscheff now am I pyght: Alas! alas! ffor my lewdnes.

O lord of myght! thou knowyst the trowthe, That I have evyr had dred of the; On every power wryght evyr I have rowthe, And ȝove hem almes for love of the. Bothe wyff and wedowe that askyght for the, And frendles chylderyn that haddyn grett nede, I dude them cure and alle for the, And toke no rewarde of them nor mede.