Altenglische legenden.

                                
                                  For thilke lorde Crist Jhesu, whom I serve,
                                  Line 265 
                                
                                  From al myschief my spirit shal preserve."
                                
                                  The Juge, confuse sittyng in the place,
                                
                                  To beholde myght not sustene
                                
                                  The rede blode rayle aboute hir face,
                                
                                  Lyke a ryver rennyng on the grene;
                                  Line 270 
                                
                                  Toke his mantel in his mortal tene,
                                
                                  Hid his visage, whanne that he toke hede
                                
                                  In herte astoned to sene hir sydes blede;
                                
                                  Made hir in hast to be take doune
                                
                                  Myd of hir peyne cruel and horrible,
                                  Line 275 
                                
                                  And efte ageyne putte hir in prisoune.
                                
                                  Where she prayde: if it were possible,
                                
                                  Hir mortal foo, dredful and odible,
                                
                                  The lorde besechynge that she myght him see,
                                
                                  Whiche cause was of hir aduersite, [folio 102] 
                                  Line 280 
                                
                                  Hir impugnynge thurgh his mortal fight
                                
                                  That man first brought to destruccyoun.
                                
                                  And sodeynly appered in hir sight,
                                
                                  Where as she lay boundene in prisoun,
                                
                                  In the lykenesse of a felle dragoun
                                  Line 285 
                                
                                  The olde serpent, whiche called is Sathan,
                                
                                  And hastyly to assayle hir he begane;
                                
                                  With open mouthe, the virgyne to de|uour,
                                
                                  First of alle he swolwed in hir hede.
                                
                                  And she deuoutly, hir self to socoure,
                                  Line 290 
                                
                                  Gan crosse hir-self, in hir mortal drede.
                                
                                  And by grace anoone, or she toke hede,
                                
                                  The horrible beste, in relees of hir peyne,
                                
                                  Brast assondre and partyd was on-tweyne.
                                
                                  And efte ageyne to assayl hir he be|gane,
                                  Line 295 
                                
                                  The story seith, and after dothe appeere
                                
                                  By gret disceit in lykenesse of a man;
                                
                                  And she deuoutly, with hir yen clere
                                
                                  Lyfte vp to god, gan maken hir prayere.
                                
                                  And as she lay in hir orisoun,
                                  Line 300 
                                
                                  Vnder hir fete lyggyng the dragoun,
                                
                                  The deuel venquysshed toke hir by the honde,
                                
                                  Spake thes wordes as I shal devyse:
                                
                                  "Thou hast me bounde with invisible bonde:
                                
                                  Whiche victorie ought ynogh suffice;
                                  Line 305 
                                
                                  Cese of thy power, and lat me now aryse,
                                
                                  For I may not abidene thi constreynt:
                                
                                  In this batayle thou hast me made so feynt."
                                
                                  And she aroos withouthe fere or drede,
                                
                                  This cely ma(i)de, this tendre creature,
                                  Line 310 
                                
                                  By grace of god hent him by the hede
                                
                                  And cast him doun, for al his felle ar|mure,
                                
                                  Vnder hir fete — he myght not recure;
                                
                                  And on this serpent for to do more wrake,
                                
                                  Hir ryght fote she sette vpon his bake.
                                  Line 315 
                                
                                  "Oo feende, quod she, of malys serpen|tyne,
                                
                                  Remembre of the how I haue victorye,
                                
                                  A clene mayde, by powere femynyne:
                                
                                  Whiche shal be rad to myn encrees of glorye,
                                
                                  Perpetuelly putte eke in memorie,
                                  Line 320 
                                
                                  How a mayde hath put vnder fote
                                
                                  Sathan, that is of synne crope and roote".
                                
                                  With that the serpent lowde gan to crie:
                                
                                  "Thou hast me brought shortly to vt|traunce,
                                
                                  I am ve(n)quysshed, I may it not denye,
                                  Line 325 
                                
                                  Ageyns the ful feble is my puyssaunce;
                                
                                  Thyn Innocence hath brought me to mys|chaunce,
                                
                                  And a mayde, but of yeeres tendre,
                                
                                  Hath me outrayed with hir lymmes sklendre.
                                
                                  Yif that a man, whiche had force and myght,
                                  Line 330 
                                
                                  Had me venquysshed, I myght it welle sustene;
                                
                                  But now, allas, ageyn al skele and ryght
                                
                                  A cely virgyne, a mayde pure and clene
                                
                                  Hath me bore doun in-til my felle tene:
                                
                                  And this, allas, bothe atte eve and mo|rowe
                                  Line 335 
                                
                                  Is grettest cause of my dedly sorowe.
                                
                                  This encreseth grete party of my peyne
                                
                                  Whan I consydre withynne my-self and see
                                
                                  How thi fader and moder bothe tweyne
                                
                                  Were in there tyme frendly vnto me;

                                  Line 340

About this Item

Title: Altenglische legenden.
Author: Horstmann, Carl, ed. b. 1851.
Canvas: Page 450
Publication: Heilbronn,: Gebr. Henninger,; 1881.
Subject terms: Saints -- Legends; English poetry; Legends

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Collection: Corpus of Middle English Prose and Verse
Link to this Item: https://name.umdl.umich.edu/afw1383.0001.001
Link to this scan: https://quod.lib.umich.edu/c/cme/afw1383.0001.001/622:4

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DPLA Rights Statement: No Copyright - United States

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Manifest: https://quod.lib.umich.edu/cgi/t/text/api/manifest/cme:afw1383.0001.001

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Full citation: "Altenglische legenden." In the digital collection Corpus of Middle English Prose and Verse. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/afw1383.0001.001. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed June 18, 2025.

Altenglische legenden.

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