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 ...

XX. [How Man's flesh complained to God against Christ.]

[Digby 102, leaf 120.] [27 stanzas of 8, abab, abab.]

(1)

The tixt of holy writ, men sayn, Hit sleeþ, but glose be among. The spirit of vnderstandyng quykeneþ agayn, And makeþ the lyue endeles long. Line 4 A fantasie y herde sayn, There-of me lust to make a song, 'How mannys flesch to god dede playn On Ihesu Crist, had don hym wrong.' Line 8

(2)

¶ The flesch, his playnt þus doþ bygynne To god fader, in heuene on hyȝt: "Ihesu, brother of oure kynne, Haþ bygyled me wiþ his sleyȝt. Line 12 He haþ parted my soule and me o twynne, And raft [it] fro me by his myȝt. Now, ryȝtwys god, let mercy blynne! On Ihesu, þy sone, do me ryȝt! Line 16

(3)

¶ Body and soule, þou dede me make, In vnyte to-gydre so. Now haþ Ihesu my soule take, And þus parted oure loue o two. Line 20 My soule haþ me [now] forsake; Sumtyme was frend, now is fo; Byd me go wolward, faste, and wake, Alle here ioye is of my woo. Line 24

Line 24

(4)

¶ Fro me, to þy sone, my soule is flet; Ful ofte þy sone in me here souȝte; Now here loue to hym so fast is knete, Away fro hym wol sche nouȝt. Line 28 She semes dronken, or out of wit; [folio 120b] Of myn euelfare she has no þouȝt. Þat sorwe is so in myn herte hit, I trowe to deþe y mon be brouȝt. Line 32

(5)

¶ Sum-tyme my soule was mylde To my biddyng, in hoot and colde, Synge, or playe, or chambres bylde, Chef seruaunt of myn housholde. Line 36 Now Ihesu haþ made here made and wylde; ffro hym, departe neuere she nolde. She setteþ on hym riȝt as a childe; Aȝens me she bereþ here bolde. Line 40

(6)

¶ Whan I of here counseil craue, Of fleschly lustes to haue my wille, She calleþ me wod, and seyþ y raue; She will neuere graunte þertille. Line 44 She biddeþ me haue mynde of my graue, Rule me in resoun and skille. I was mayster, now am y knaue; In that stat, brynge me she wille. Line 48

(7)

¶ Wolde y be proud, she biddeþ be meke; Wolde y be gloton, she biddeþ me faste; Þere y wolde take, she biddes me eke; Wolde y be lyther, she biddis be chaste; Line 52 Ȝif y fyȝte, she biddes ley forþ my cheke; Þere y am slow, she biddis be haste; Here answere is not to seke; To speke to here, my wynde y waste. Line 56

Line 56

(8)

¶ Ihesu com fro heuene blisse, And tok flesch in a mayden fre, Lowely, and most [of] mekenesse, Hyd vnder flesch [[MS. flesch fleschly]] oure fraternite; Line 60 Now wold [he] take my soule to his, ffor he suffred pyne and pouerte. Ȝit sumwhat y myȝte acorde to þis; But why shulde my soule hate me? Line 64

(9)

¶ Whan Ihesu and my soule be met, Sone my werkis þey aspiȝe; Here wit on me fast þey whet: 'In shame, and skorne, and vylenye, Line 68 To folwe þy fleschly lustes let, Or ellis boþe ȝe shal dyȝe.' Þus am y vnder and ouer set. She spettes on me, and doþ me fyȝe. Line 72

(10)

¶ Wiþ me, my soule he doþ þrete, And makeþ my soule me to hate. Wiþ plesande wordis, he hoteþ here gete In heuene blisse, a quenes astate. Line 76 Þan comeþ she hom in wraþþe-ful hete, Bedeþ here lette, boþe erly and late, Casteþ me doun, and doþ me bete, And tredeþ on me, and makeþ debate. Line 80

(11)

¶ Thanne renneþ she aȝen as she were wood; To Ihesu, þy sone, she doþ flyȝe. He fedeþ here wiþ his flesch and blood, But þanne here þouȝtes mownten hyȝe. Line 84 She biddiþ me water and bred to food; As mortkyn forsaken, she let me liȝe. She holdeþ me euyll, and no þyng good, But a stynkyng carayne in here eyȝe. Line 88

Line 88

(12)

¶ Þus my soule, my body slees Wiþ gret anguysche and turment. She telles, Ihesu dyȝed for pes; But fro his skole she is went; Line 92 Bytwen vs werre doþ encres. Here swerd is drawen, here bow is bent. She sayþ but, 'fleschly lustes, sees! We mon be dede, and boþe be shent.' Line 96

(13)

¶ She acordid wiþ Ihesu, and me dede flyte, And sayde y shulde be [folio 121a] maked tame, And sayde my werkys me adyte, And bryngen me in wikked fame. Line 100 Ȝif worldly men me don smyte, And don me boþe wrong and grame, She loueþ that don me despyte, And preyeþ for all þat don me shame. Line 104

(14)

¶ Hyȝe fader, god of riȝtwisnes, Haue mynde of my sorwe sore! And it be founden Ihesu loued mysse, To me my soule aȝen restore— Line 108 A litil playnt nes noȝt þisse, And alle þat y haue sayd ȝore— Þat y and my soule be frendis and kisse, And loue, as we dede here byfore. Line 112

(15)

¶ For my soule, Ihesu suffred wo, Bounden and beten wiþ skourges ynowe, Crowned wiþ thorn, nayled also On croos, tyl deþ dede hym bowe. Line 116 Wiþ a spere, his herte let cleue a two, Wyde open his loue myȝte out flowe, So loþ hym was his loue forgo; He is worþy be loued, þat so dede wowe. Line 120

Line 120

(16)

¶ My soule, y holde, holy es it, [[MS. it es]] For she loueþ Ihesu, þat loueþ here wel. But loue were tendere to loue vsed, Were harder þan ston, and styffere þan stel. Line 124 On Ihesu she is amerous and ful auysed. What worldly þyng she seeþ or fele, Al worldly ioye she haþ refused, And me she loueþ neuere a dele. Line 128

(17)

¶ I wante my wille, and euel fare y, Fro worldly merþe put o syde. Fro worldis worschip she doþ me tary. I may no þouȝt fro here hyde. Line 132 Þere y blisse, she doþ wary; Þere y speke fayre, she doþ chyde. She is newe waxen al contrary. Þere y dwelle, she nyl not byde. Line 136

(18)

¶ She repreueþ my dagged cloþes, And longe pyked crakowed shon; Vpbreyde[þ] me my grete oþes, And sayþ y breke goddis bone. Line 140 Þat me is lef, all she loþes. I seye 'oþere men so don.' She seyþ, þey go to helle woþes, Wole to wende, wiþ hem to wone. Line 144

(19)

¶ Wiþ Ihesu, alway is she, And now she lyþ wiþ hym in cracche, Now into Egipt wiþ hym doþ fle Fro Herowdes, lest he hem cacche. Line 148 In his moder armes, born wol she be, And sowke wiþ hym, as chylde in tacche. She folweþ hym in al degre, And countrefeteþ to ben his macche. Line 152

Line 152

(20)

¶ Wiþ hym doþ drynke and ete, To lerne of his discressioun; Wiþ hym sche is skourged and bete, And crucyfyed in his passioun; Line 156 She is wiþ hym in helle hete, Wiþ hym in his resurexioun, And stye in-to heuene in his fadres se[t]e; Þens nolde she neuere come doun." Line 160

(21)

¶ Now þe playnt is at þe last. God answerd wiþ mylde soun: 'fflesch,' he sayde, 'þou iangelest fast Moche dene, and no resoun. Line 164 Alle þy wordes þou dost waste. Wille wiþoute discressioun, Þyn awen pleynt þe doþ caste; Þou turnest þy self vp so doun. Line 168

(22)

¶ Thou makest maystershepe in al vys, [folio 121b] And here [turnest] fro my way, And makest here þral to fleschely delys, In vanyte to al worldly play. Line 172 She is ashamed, now she is wys; Sche lyued in vowtrye so many a day. She haþ chosen þe loue most o prys, And cast þe fals[e] loue away.' Line 176

(23)

¶ God seiþ: 'man, y made þe of nouȝt, And kyd þat y loued þe dere, And soule of resoun in þe wrouȝt, ffayre and wys, angels pere. Line 180 Þou hast defouled þe ymage þat y wrouȝt, In seruage to fendis and fendis fere. She folwed þy wille in dede and þouȝt, In alle place, fer and nere. Line 184

Line 184

(24)

¶ On Ihesu þou pleynt dost make, Sayde he bigyled þe wiþ sleyȝte, And biddest me lete mercy slake, And on Ihesu do þe ryȝt. Line 188 My sone, for þe, dede deth take, And kydde þe loue most of myȝt. Þouȝ he loue dede forsake, How woldest þou þis doom were dyȝt? Line 192

(25)

¶ Flesch, þy synnes mochil is; Þou art cast in þyn awen caas. Knowleche, repente, and mende þy mys, And be in wille no more trespas. Line 196 I nel deme þe in ryȝtwisnes, But medle þerwiþ mercy and grace, And brynge þy soule to heuene blys, Wiþ loue to se my fayre face. Line 200

(26)

¶ In ouerhope, be not to bold In synne, for to haue mercy. Let not wanhope in þe be old, For my grace is euere redy. Line 204 Fro helle pynes hoot and cold I assoyle þe, and out of purgatory. At þy deth, or body be cold, To Ihesu in heuene þy soule shal fleye. Line 208

(27)

¶ In good werkis wysely wake, Playne not on Ihesu, what he sende. Sykenes, pouerte, mekely take; Richesse and hele wysely spende, Line 212 And helpe all pore for goddis sake. Þan god wole lede ȝow, as his frend, To ioye of heuene þat shal neuere slake.' In-to þat blisse, god graunte vs wende! Amen! Line 216