Political, religious, and love poems. Some by Lydgate, Sir Richard Ros, Henry Baradoun, Wm. Huchen, etc. from the Archbishop of Canterbury's Lambeth Ms. no. 306, and other sources, with a fragment of The Romance of Peare of Provence and the fair Magnelone, and a sketch, with the prolog and epilog, of The Romance of the knight Amoryus and the Lady Cleopes,

About this Item

Title

Author

Furnivall, Frederick James, ed. 1825-1910,

Publication

London,: Pub. for the Early English Text Society, by K. Paul, Trench, Trübner & co., limited,

1866, re-edited 1903.

Rights/Permissions

The University of Michigan Library provides access to these materials for educational and research purposes. These materials are in the public domain. If you have questions about the collection, please contact mec-info@umich.edu. If you have concerns about the inclusion of an item in this collection, please contact libraryit-info@umich.edu.

DPLA Rights Statement: No Copyright - United States

Subject terms

English poetry

Cite this Item

"Political, religious, and love poems. Some by Lydgate, Sir Richard Ros, Henry Baradoun, Wm. Huchen, etc. from the Archbishop of Canterbury's Lambeth Ms. no. 306, and other sources, with a fragment of The Romance of Peare of Provence and the fair Magnelone, and a sketch, with the prolog and epilog, of The Romance of the knight Amoryus and the Lady Cleopes,." In the digital collection Corpus of Middle English Prose and Verse. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/ANT9912.0001.001. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed May 23, 2024.

Pages

Page 238

The Virgin's Complaint and Comfort. Filius Regis Mortuus est. Resurrexit: Regis Mortuus est.

[Harl. MS. 3954, ab. 1420 A.D.; leaf 90 a.] [12 stanzas of 12 lines each, abab abab bcbc.]

(1)

                        as reson hathe rulyd my recles mynde,
                      
                        Be a wey wandryng as I went,
                      
                        A solom cite me fortunyd to fynde.
                      
                        To turne þer-to was myne entent;
                        Line 4 
                      
                        A louely lady, a maydyn hende,
                      
                        I met here mornyng; but wath sche ment
                      
                        I kowde noȝt knowyn; but fast sche pynyd,
                      
                        Sche swonnyde, sche seyd, & was nere schent.
                        Line 8 
                      
                        Þat blissid beerde fro grownd I hent,
                      
                        Wyth water I wesche here face & brest;
                      
                        Her here, her skyn, sche raside & rent,
                      
                        And seyd "filius regis mortuus est.
                        Line 12

(2)

                        Þe kynges sone," sche seyd, "is dede!
                      
                        Hyest in heuene his fader is;
                      
                        I am his moder þorowe his manhede,
                      
                        In bedlem I bare ȝour alderes blisse,
                        Line 16 
                      
                        In circumsicion I saw hym blede,
                      
                        Þat prince present I-wys.
                      
                        In a tempille, as lawe gan lede,
                      
                        Tirtildovys I offerid a-bouyn al þis;
                        Line 20 
                      
                        In-to egipt I fled, as m[o]der his,
                      
                        And lost hym, & fond hym at a fest
                      
                        Þer he tornyd water in-to wyn I-wis;
                      
                        And nowe: filius regis mortuus est.

                        Line 24

Page 239

(3)

                        "Whan he was ded & hang on a tre,
                      
                        iiij flodes of paradice fro hym ran;
                      
                        I cried, 'dere sone, seist þu noȝt me,
                      
                        Thi karefulle moder blo & wanne?'
                        Line 28 
                      
                        A doleful loke þan lokede he,
                      
                        That percyd myn hert, boþe blode & bon;
                      
                        I criede on deth, 'why wilt þu fle?
                      
                        Cum, sle his moder, þu morder man!
                        Line 32 
                      
                        Why slest þou my sone? cum, sle me þan!
                      
                        Why comst þu noȝt at my request?
                      
                        Þou takist fro me alle þat I wan,
                      
                        Nowe filius regis mortuus est.'
                        Line 36

(4)

                        "What wonder is it þowe I be wo,
                      
                        For he is dede þat soke my pappe?
                      
                        His cors-is graue I come nowe fro,
                      
                        Þat sumtyme lay quyke on my lappe.
                        Line 40 
                      
                        A-las! for sorwe I haue no mo;
                      
                        I, ka[r]fulle moder, where is myn happe? [folio 90b] 
                      
                        Nowe ligiȝt he ded, boþe blok & blo!
                      
                        Þe sonne lost his lith, þe clowdes gan clappe,
                        Line 44 
                      
                        The elementes gonne to rusche & rappe,
                      
                        And smet downe chirches & templis with crak,
                      
                        Dede men out of here graue gan skappe,
                      
                        And seyd filius regis mortuus est."
                        Line 48

(5)

                        Why deyed þi sone, þou maydyn cha[s]t?
                      
                        Þe secund persone, & þe godhede nowt,
                      
                        Nore þe thirde persone, þe holigost,
                      
                        Þis merueliȝt me meche in my thowt.
                        Line 52 
                      
                        For wysdome to þo sone was be-tawte
                      
                        Whan Adam to synne was browt,
                      
                        iij for iij þat we xulde trespace nowt;

Page 240

                      
                        But maker of redempcion was or we were wrowt.
                        Line 56 
                      
                        Adam to a tre his handës cawt;
                      
                        Cristis handis to a tre were fest;
                      
                        To felle our fon our frendis fawt,
                      
                        And þer filius regis mortuus est.
                        Line 60

(6)

                        Seynt poule seythe he deyed for alle;
                      
                        Why were not alle men sauyd þan?
                      
                        Sent austyn answerid in generalle,
                      
                        He deyid for euery leuyng man.
                        Line 64 
                      
                        Hym selfë þat wille not god calle,
                      
                        He wylle not leue þat he hym whan;
                      
                        What wonder is it, þowe he be thralle
                      
                        That byndiȝt hym selfe, & not vn-lose can?
                        Line 68 
                      
                        Þe blod þat fro his sydës ran
                      
                        Whan alle þis werlde was derke, est & west,
                      
                        Ther-for I syng as I be-gan,
                      
                        Filius regis mortuus est.
                        Line 72

(7)

                        "Go, loke," sche seyid, "whille þou mayst se,
                      
                        I may no lenger taryon out of towne."
                      
                        I toke my gate up to þe tre
                      
                        Þér þe blod was rennyng downe:
                        Line 76 
                      
                        iij dayis I dithe me þer to be,
                      
                        For pete of his passïon,
                      
                        Sithen to his graue he went a-lone fro me.
                      
                        iij women I met with precessïon,
                        Line 80 
                      
                        I askyd hem whedir þat þei were bone;
                      
                        Fulle sone þei toke sorowe with-outyn rest,
                      
                        Ȝet þei answerid with dollefulle sone, [folio 91] 
                      
                        And seyd, Filius regis mortuus est.
                        Line 84

(8)

So to his graue I went ful rythe, And pursuyd after to wetyn an ende;

Page 241

                      
                        I sawe angelis with gret lithe
                      
                        Of seraphynnys order adowne gan sende.
                        Line 88 
                      
                        Þe women, þei sobbid, & mornyd sore in sithe;
                      
                        Þei seyd, "we leyd hym here with oure hande."
                      
                        Þe angelis answeryd with wordis rythe,
                      
                        And seyd, "is not here þat ȝe wende;
                        Line 92 
                      
                        He is resyn, as he ȝowe kennyd,
                      
                        And in to galalye forthe is prest."
                      
                        Here chere & comfort gan a-mende,
                      
                        For resurrexit! non mortuus est!
                        Line 96

(9)

                        To telle þis tale I hied me fast,
                      
                        That filius regis. was resyn a-geyn;
                      
                        Bé a tempille as I forthe past,
                      
                        I herd wepyng with mechë peyn;
                        Line 100 
                      
                        A woman I sawe þere at þe last
                      
                        That I first met, with-outyn layn,
                      
                        Ful doofully on me here eyn sche cast;
                      
                        But howe sche ferd, fast I gan frayn:
                        Line 104 
                      
                        "A-las," sche sayd, "I am vn-fayn
                      
                        To se my sone in þis dissesse."
                      
                        Þan to þat ladi I answerid a-gayn,
                      
                        And seyd, "filius regis non mortuus est."
                        Line 108

(10)

                        Seynt thomes seythe, & oder doctours an heppe,
                      
                        Þat first he apperid to our ladi dere;
                      
                        His dethe to here hert sanke most depe
                      
                        For sche was most of his chere;
                        Line 112 
                      
                        So bryth, so gloriouce, þe sonne increppe,
                      
                        His schynyng merkes here bodi bare,
                      
                        He salutyd his moder with gret worchepe,
                      
                        Þat salutacion I herd neuere are,
                        Line 116 
                      
                        "Salue, sancta parens!" I trowe it ware,—
                      
                        In latyne is wretyn fulle honest,—
                      
                        "My blissid moder for euer-mare!
                      
                        For resurrexit! non mortuus est!"

                        Line 120

Page 242

120

(11)

                        "Þis was gret mervayle for to se,
                      
                        Þe ertdly moder þat kyng to susteyne;
                      
                        Sweche ioy and solemp[ni]te,
                      
                        Be-forn ne after was neuer seyn;
                        Line 124 
                      
                        The erde is glad, þe sunne is fre, [folio 91b] 
                      
                        Þe sunne is glad þat it brythe xalle bene,
                      
                        And neuer after so blac to sene.
                      
                        Þe werlde is glad, & hath grace sene,
                        Line 128 
                      
                        Alle cristen pepill glad xal bene
                      
                        Þat crist is boþë k[i]ng and prest;
                      
                        Nowe is seyd hec dies for ioye, I wene,
                      
                        That resurrexit! non mortuus est!"
                        Line 132

(12)

                        Syn he was lord & k[i]ng ouer alle,
                      
                        Had mythe & powere of good & ille,
                      
                        Whi wolde he not at oo word calle
                      
                        Þe soulis fro heuene at his owyn wille,
                        Line 136 
                      
                        But þus to be ded & thralle?
                      
                        To þis oure gloce wylle answere tylle:
                      
                        He leet his mythe at þat tyme falle,
                      
                        And wrowt wisdomys folle sotylle,
                        Line 140 
                      
                        To bie our soulis þat were hese with skille.
                      
                        Þe fende of mankende had gret tryste;
                      
                        There lost he his cause; þat lekid hym ille,
                      
                        Whan filius regis mortuus est.
                        Line 144 
                      Explicit Filius Regis . · .

Notes

MS. wanme.

Back to content
These lines do not rhyme with 1 and 3 of this stanza, as the others in the poem do.

Back to content
These lines do not rhyme with 1 and 3 of this stanza, as the others in the poem do.

Back to content
for wan.

Back to content
MS. welrde

Back to content

About this Item

Pages

description Page 238

The Virgin's Complaint and Comfort. Filius Regis Mortuus est. Resurrexit: Regis Mortuus est.

description Page 239

description Page 240

description Page 241

description Page 242