Twenty-six political and other poems (including 'Petty Job') from the Oxford mss. Digby 102 and Douce 322. Ed., with introduction and glossarial index, by D. J. Kail ...

About this Item

Title

Author

Kail, J., ed.

Publication

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

1904-

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 [email protected]. If you have concerns about the inclusion of an item in this collection, please contact [email protected].

DPLA Rights Statement: No Copyright - United States

Subject terms

English poetry

Link to this Item

http://name.umdl.umich.edu/APE9594.0001.001

Cite this Item

"Twenty-six political and other poems (including 'Petty Job') from the Oxford mss. Digby 102 and Douce 322. Ed., with introduction and glossarial index, by D. J. Kail ..." In the digital collection Corpus of Middle English Prose and Verse. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/APE9594.0001.001. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed May 5, 2025.

Pages

XIX. [God's Appeal to Man.]

[Digby 102, leaf 119, back.] [14 stanzas of 8, abab, abab.]

(1)

                    In my conscience I fynde,
                  
                    And in my soule I here and see,
                  
                    To repreue man þat is vnkynde,
                  
                    Goddis wordis þis may be:
                    Line 4 
                  
                    "Man of resoun, haue in mynde,
                  
                    I made þe lyk ymage to me;
                  
                    For loue y hadde to mankynde,
                  
                    I toke manhed, lyk to þe.
                    Line 8

(2)

¶ Mannys loue y ȝerned ȝore; Þat loue was in myn herte souȝt. Mannys loue sat me so sore, Nas neuere bargayn derrere bouȝt. 12

Page 86

                  
                    Line 12 
                  
                    Man! is þe laft no loue in store?
                  
                    What is þe cause þou louest me nouȝt?
                  
                    Telle me ȝif y myȝte don more.
                  
                    What is byhynd, þat lakkeþ þe ouȝt?
                    Line 16

(3)

                    ¶ For þy loue y meked me lowe,
                  
                    And dyȝed on þe rode tre.
                  
                    Answere, man, and be aknowe:
                  
                    Shewe what þou suffred for me;
                    Line 20 
                  
                    For suche seed as þou dost sowe,
                  
                    Þerof shal þyn heruest be,
                  
                    In heuene or helle to repe and mowe.
                  
                    As þou deserued, fong þy fee.
                    Line 24

(4)

                    ¶ Man, to þe y make my mone:
                  
                    I bouȝt þe fro pyne to blisse;
                  
                    Melte þyn herte, as hard as stone;
                  
                    Þouȝ it be late, amende þy mysse.
                    Line 28 
                  
                    In wraþþe, þouȝ þou be fro me gon,
                  
                    Turne aȝayn, y wol þe kysse.
                  
                    To make me frendis of my fon,
                  
                    Þerfore y ȝaf my lyf for hysse.
                    Line 32

(5)

                    ¶ Be war, and loue not worldis good
                  
                    To gete wiþ wrong, and calle it thyn.
                  
                    Man, haue it in þy mood,
                  
                    Þou shalt rekene; for alle is myn.
                    Line 36 
                  
                    Why bouȝte y þe on the rood?
                  
                    For þou shulde serue, and be myn hyne.
                  
                    Make not myn argumentis wood,
                  
                    To caste þe fro blisse to pyne.
                    Line 40

(6)

¶ Man, why turmentest þou me so? Euere þy synnes don encresce, And þy vices waxen moo, And þy vertues wanen lesse. 44

Page 87

                  
                    Line 44 
                  
                    Thenke good y be, thy foo.
                  
                    Whanne wylt þou of þy synne ses,
                  
                    Haue mercy on þy soule woo,
                  
                    Or haue mynde on me, and ȝeue me pes?
                    Line 48

(7)

                    ¶ To suffre deþ, y meked me,
                  
                    Fro pyne to blisse, þy soule to wynne.
                  
                    To me so shuldest þou meke þe,
                  
                    Leue and forbere þy synne.
                    Line 52 
                  
                    Fro my lordschipe myȝt þou not fle,
                  
                    Heuene ne helle, ne see wiþ-ynne,
                  
                    But where and whenne my wille be,
                  
                    Þy body and soule to parte o twynne.
                    Line 56

(8)

                    ¶ Thouȝ y haue graunted þe grace
                  
                    To knowe boþe good and ylle,
                  
                    Wyte þy self in eche a place,
                  
                    Wheþer þou wylt þy self spille.
                    Line 60 
                  
                    Þouȝ flesch and world and fend [þe] chas,
                  
                    Temptacion profre þe tille,
                  
                    Þou myȝt forbere and nouȝt trespas;
                  
                    I lente þe knoweleche and fre wille.
                    Line 64

(9)

                    ¶ In syknesse and pouerte,
                  
                    Glade þerynne, and þanke me all.
                  
                    Þe more þou hast þerof plente,
                  
                    Þe nerre þe, be y shall.
                    Line 68 
                  
                    Þan say, 'Lord, kepe me neyȝ þe! [folio 110a] 
                  
                    At nede, here me when y call!
                  
                    Take fro me hele and prosperite
                  
                    Raþere þan lete me fro þe fall!'
                    Line 72

(10)

¶ Man, rewe on my paynes sore, Repente þy synne, and mercy craue. By my woundes, swere no more. Dysmembre no lymes þat y haue. 76

Page 88

                  
                    Line 76 
                  
                    Þy wrong wynnyng, aȝen restore.
                  
                    Ȝif þou wilt þy soule saue,
                  
                    Lete soule be lord, and go byfore,
                  
                    And make þy body þy soule knaue.
                    Line 80

(11)

                    ¶ Man, and þou wist how,
                  
                    So liȝtly my gre to make,
                  
                    Þou noldest, for alle þe worldis prow,
                  
                    For fleschly lustes me forsake.
                    Line 84 
                  
                    In þy lyue, besye þe now;
                  
                    In goode werkis wysely wake;
                  
                    In loue, drede, to me bow,
                  
                    And fle to me fro synnes blake.
                    Line 88

(12)

                    ¶ Seuene werkis of mercy, kepe hem well,
                  
                    Þe comaundementis and þe Crede,
                  
                    All þy lyue, as y þe telle;
                  
                    Ȝeue me þyn herte in loue and drede.
                    Line 92 
                  
                    Whyle body and soule togydre dwelle,
                  
                    Þou myȝt serue pyne and mede.
                  
                    When soule is out of flesch and felle,
                  
                    Shal neuere do synne ne almesdede.
                    Line 96

(13)

                    ¶ Mayntene not wrong, to calle it ryȝt.
                  
                    Vengeaunce and mercy, neyȝebores ben þo.
                  
                    As messageres þey ben dyȝt,
                  
                    Mercy to frend, vengeaunce to foo.
                    Line 100 
                  
                    Ȝoure dede in derk, y se in syȝt;
                  
                    Þere nys nó þouȝt hid me fro.
                  
                    After þy dede, þe doom is dyȝt.
                  
                    Vengeaunce and mercy departeþ hem so.
                    Line 104

(14)

¶ For my doom is riȝtwisnesse; Riȝtwys longeþ to þe godhede; And my sones dom is wys, For mercy longeþ to þe manhede. 108

Page 89

                  
                    Line 108 
                  
                    Þe holy gost grace lys,
                  
                    He ȝeueþ lyf, he ȝeueþ no dede.
                  
                    Ouercome my wraþþe, and fle fro vys,
                  
                    And do þe comaundementis þat y bede."
                    Line 112

Twenty-six political and other poems (including 'Petty Job') from the Oxford mss. Digby 102 and Douce 322. Ed., with introduction and glossarial index, by D. J. Kail ...

About this Item

Pages

XIX. [God's Appeal to Man.]

description Page 86

description Page 87

description Page 88

description Page 89

Page 86

Page 87

Page 88

Page 89