Glorious mayde and moder, which that
Were bitter, neither in erthe nor in see, 50 But ful of swetnesse and of mercy ever, Help that: fader be not wroth with me! Spek thon, for I ne dar not him y-see. So have I doon in erthe, allas ther-whyle! That certes, but-if thou my socour be, 55 To stink eterne he wol my gost exyle.
He vouched sauf, tel him, as was his wille, Bicome a man, to have our alliaunce, And with his precious blood he wroot the bille
Was signe of thyn unwemmed maidenhede.
Thou art the bush on which ther gan descende
The Holy Gost, the which that Moises wende
Had ben a-fyr; and this was in figure. Now lady, from the fyr thou us defende 95 Which that in helle eternally shal dure.
Noble princesse, that never haddest pere, Certes, if any comfort in us be,
That cometh of thee, thou Cristes moder dere,
We han non other melodye or glee 100 Us to rejoyse in our adversitee, N'advocat noon that wol and dar so preye For us, and that for litel hyre as ye, That helpen for an Ave-Marie or tweye.
O verrey light of eyen that ben blinde, 105 O verrey lust of labour and distresse, O tresorere of bountee to mankinde, Thee whom God chees to moder for humblesse !
From his ancille he made thee maistresse Of hevene and erthe, our bille up for to bede.
This world awaiteth ever on thy goodnesse,
For thou ne failest never wight at nede.
Purpos I have sum tyme for t'enquere, Wherfore and why the Holy Gost thee soughte,
Whan Gabrielles vois cam to thyn ere, 115 He not to werre us swich a wonder wroughte,
But for to save us that he sithen boughte Than nedeth us no wepen us for to save, But only ther we did not, as us oughte, Do penitence, and mercy axe and have, 120
Queen of comfort, yit whan I me bithink That I agilt have bothe, him and thee,
And that my soule is worthy for to sinke, Allas, I, caitif, whider may I flee? Who shal un-to thy sone my mene be? 125 Who, but thy-self, that art of pitee welle? Thou hast more reuthe on our adversitee Than in this world mighte any tunge telle. Redresse me, moder, and me chastyse, For, certeynly, my fadres chastisinge 130 That dar I nought abyden in no wyse : So hidous is his rightful rekeninge. Moder, of whom our mercy gan to springe, Beth ye my juge and eek my soules leche; For ever in you is pitee haboundinge 135 To ech that wol of pitee you biseche.
Soth is, that God ne graunteth no pitee With-oute thee; for God, of his goodnesse, Forgiveth noon, but it lyke un-to thee. He hath thee maked vicaire and mais- tresse
Of Paradys, thou me wisse and counsaile, How I may have thy grace and thy socour; Al have I been in filthe and in errour. Lady, un-to that court thou me ajourne That cleped is thy bench, O fresshe flour! Ther-as that mercy ever shal sojourne. 160
Xristus, thy sone, that in this world alighte,
Up-on the cros to suffre his passioun, And teek, that Longius his herte pighte, And made his herte blood to renne adoun; And al was this for my salvacioun; 165 And I to him am fals and eek unkinde, And yit he wol not my dampnacioun— This thanke I you, socour of al mankinde. Ysaac was figure of his deeth, certeyn, That so fer-forth his fader wolde obeye 170 That him ne roughte no-thing to be slayn; Right so thy sone list, as a lamb, to deye. Now lady, ful of mercy, I you preye, Sith he his mercy mesured so large, Bo ye not skant; for alle we singe and seye 175
That ye ben from vengeaunce ay our targe. Zacharie you clepeth the open welle To wasshe sinful soule out of his gilt. Therfore this lessoun oughte I wel to telle That, nere thy tender herte, we weren spilt.
Now lady brighte, sith thou canst and wilt Ben to the seed of Adam merciable, So bring us to that palais that is bilt To penitents that ben to mercy able. Amen. 184
But yet encreseth me this wonder newe, That no wight woot that she is deed, but I; So many men as in hir tyme hir knewe, And yet she dyed not so sodeynly; For I have sought hir ever ful besily Sith first I hadde wit or mannes minde; But she was deed, er that I coude hir finde. 35
Aboute hir herse ther stoden lustily, Withouten any wo, as thoughte me, Bountee parfit, wel armed and richely, And fresshe Beautee, Lust, and Jolitee, Assured Maner, Youthe, and Honestee, 40 Wisdom, Estaat, [and] Dreed, and Go-
Confedred bothe by bonde and alliaunce.
A compleynt hadde I, writen, in myn hond,
For to have put to Pite as a bille,
But whan I al this companye ther fond, That rather wolden al my cause spille 46 Than do me help, I held my pleynte stille; For to that folk, withouten any faile, Withoute Pite may no bille availe.
Then leve I al thise virtues, sauf Pite, 50 Keping the corps, as ye have herd me seyn,
Withoute you, benigne creature? Shal Crueltee be your governeresse? Allas! what herte may hit longe endure? Wherfor, but ye the rather take cure To breke that perilous alliaunce, Ye sleen hem that ben in your obeisance. 'And further over, if ye suffre this, Your renoun is fordo than in a throwe; Ther shal no man wite wel what Pite is. Allas! that your renoun shuld be so lowe! Ye be than fro your heritage y-throwe By Crueltee, that occupieth your place; yo And we despeired, that seken to your
That, by my trouthe, I take +kepe
Of no-thing, how hit cometh or goth, Ne me nis no-thing leef nor loth.
Al is y-liche good to me- Joye or sorowe, wherso hit be- For I have feling in no-thing, But, as it were, a mased thing, Alway in point to falle a-doun; For +sory imaginacioun Is alway hoolly in my minde.
And wel ye woot, agaynes kinde Hit were to liven in this wyse ; For nature wolde nat suffyse
To noon erthely creature Not longe tyme to endure
Withoute slepe, and be[en] in sorwe; And I ne may, ne night ne morwe, Slepe; and thus melancolye, And dreed I have for to dye, Defaute of slepe, and hevinesse Hath sleyn my spirit of quiknesse, That I have lost al lustihede. Suche fantasyes ben in myn hede So I not what is best to do.
So whan she coude here no word That no man mighte finde hir lord, Ful oft she swouned, and seide 'alas!' For sorwe ful nigh wood she was, Ne she coude no reed but oon; But doun on knees she sat anoon, And tweep, that pite was to here. 'A! mercy! swete lady dere!' Quod she to Juno, hir goddesse ; 'Help me out of this distresse, And yeve me grace my lord to see Sone, or wite wher-so he be, Or how he fareth, or in what wyse, And I shal make you sacrifyse, And hoolly youres become I shal With good wil, body, herte, and al; And but thou wilt this, lady swete,
This king wolde wenden over see. To tellen shortly, whan that he Was in the see, thus in this wyse, Soche a tempest gan to ryse That brak hir mast, and made it falle, And clefte hir ship, and dreinte hem alle, That never was founden, as it telles, Bord ne man, ne nothing elles. Right thus this king Seys loste his lyf. 75 Now for to speken of his wyf :- This lady, that was left at home, Hath wonder, that the king ne come Hoom, for hit was a longe terme. Anon her herte +gan to erme ; And for that hir thoughte evermo Hit was not wel the dwelte so, She longed so after the king That certes, hit were a pitous thing To telle hir hertely sorwful lyf That thadde, alas! this noble wyf; For him she loved alderbest. Anon she sente bothe eest and west To seke him, but they founde nought. 'Alas!' quoth she, 'that I was wrought! And wher my lord, my love, be deed? 91 Certes, I nil never ete breed,
I make a-vowe to my god here,
Send me grace to slepe, and mete In my slepe som certeyn sweven, Wher-through that I may knowen even Whether my lord be quik or deed.' With that word she heng doun the heed, And fil a-swown as cold as ston; Hir women caughte her up anon, And broghten hir in bed al naked, And she, forweped and forwaked, Was wery, and thus the dede sleep Fil on her, or she toke keep, Through Juno, that had herd hir bone, That made hir [for] to slepe sone ;
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