Изображения страниц
PDF
EPUB

In herte ne myhte y never bowe, ne to my kunde loverd drawe; My meste vo ys my loves trowe, Crist ne stod me never hawe; Ich holde me vilore then a Gyw, ant y my self wolde bue knowe; Lord, merci rewe me now,

reyse up that ys falle lowe.

God, that al this world shal hede,

thy gode myht thou hast in wolde, On erthe thou com for oure nede,

for ous sunful were boht ant solde; When we bueth dempned after ur dede, a domesday when ryhtes bueth tolde, When we shule suen thy wounde blede, to speke thenne we bueth unbolde.

Unbold icham to bidde the bote,
swythe unreken ys my rees;
Thy wille ne welk y ner a fote,
to wickede werkes y me chees;

Fals Ꭹ wes in crop ant rote,

when y seyde thy lore was lees; Jesu Crist, thou be mi bote,

so boun icham to make my pees.

Al unreken is my ro,

Loverd Crist, whet shal y say? Of myne deden fynde y non fro, ne nothyng that y thenke may.

Unwrth icham to come the to,

y serve the nouther nyht ne day; In thy merci y me do,

God, that al this myhtes may.

XXXVII.

[Fol. 106, ro.]

LUSTNETH alle a lutel throwe,

ze that wolleth ou selve y-knowe, unwys thah y be,

Ichulle telle ou ase y con,

Hou holy wryt speketh of mon, herkneth nou to me.

The holy mon sayth in his bok, That mon is worm ant wormes kok, ant wormes he shal vede;

When is lif is hym by-reved,

In is rug ant in his heved

he shal foule wormes brede.

The fleyhs shal rotie from the bon, The senewes untuen everuchon, the body shal to-fye;

ze that wolleth that sothe y suen, Under grases ther hue buen,

byholdeth wet ther lye.

Mon is mad of feble fom,
Ne hath he no syker hom,

to stunte alle wey stille; Ys ryhte stude is elles wer, Jhesu, bring us alle ther,

zef hit be thy wille!

The fleysh stont azeyn the gost,

When thou shalt deze, ner thou nost nouther day ne nyht;

On stede ne sitte thou ner so heze, zet a-last thou shalt deze,

greyth the whil thou myht.

In false wonyng is monnes lyf,
When deth draweth is sharpe knyf,

do the sone to shryve;

For zef thou const loke ariht,

Nast thou nothyng bote fyht,

whil thou art a-lyve.

Nou thou hast wrong, ant nou ryht; Nou thou art hevy, ant nou lyht;

thou lepest ase a roo;

Nou thou art sekest, ant nou holest ;

Nou thou art rychest, ant nou porest; nis this muche woo?

Thy fleysh ne swyketh nyht ne day, Hit wol han eyse whil hit may,

ant the soule sayth, "nay;

3ef ich the buere to muche meth,

Thou wolt me bringe to helle deth, ant wo that lesteth ay."

Thus hit geth bituene hem tuo,

That on saith, let, that other seyth, do, ne conne hue nout lynne;

Wel we mowe alle y-se,

The soule shulde maister be,

The pris forte wynne.

Ne be thou nout thi fleysh uncouth, Loke wet cometh out of thy mouth, ant elles wher wythoute;

zef thou nymest wel god keep,

Ne fyndest thou non so fyl dung-heep, ant thou loke aboute.

Nou thou hast in that foul hous,

A thyng that is ful precious, ful duere hit ys aboht;

Icholde the ful wilde ant wod, zef thou lesest so muche god, ant zevest hit for noht.

Mon, be war ant eke wis, zef thou fallest, sone arys,

ne ly thou none stounde ;

With al thi myhte thou do this,

Thy soule sit ant soth hit

ys,

blysse ichave y-founde.

Mon, thou havest wicked fon,

The alre worst is that on,

here nomes y shal telle;

Thyn onne fleysh, thy worldes fend,
That best shulde be thy frend,

that most doth the to quelle.

Thou clothest him in feir shroud, Ant makest thy fomon fat ant proud, 3ef y durste seyn;

Thou dest thy selve muche wrong,

Thou makest him so fat ant strong, to fyhte the azeyn.

Do my counsail ant my reed,
Withdrah hym ofte of is breed,

ant zef him water drynke;

Ne let hym nothing ydel go,
Bote pyne do hym ant wo,

ant ofte let hym swynke.

Coveytise of mony thyng,

The world the bringeth in fleish lykyng,

ant zeveth the more ant more;

Fals he is, ant feyr he semeth,

Arle best when he the quemeth,

he byndeth the fol sore.

Thenne shal he go to noht,
Nast thou nothing hyder y-broht,

ne nout shalt buere wyth the;

« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »