Studien zu Richard Rolle de Hampole. II. Lamentatio St. Bernardi de compassione Mariae [Englische Studien 8 (1885)]

B.

Lamentacio sancti Bernardi de com∣passione beate Marie virginis ex dul∣cissimi filii sui passione et eiusdem crudeli morte.

I.

Lewid men arn not lerid in lore, As clerkis ben in holi writte, & Þouh men preche hem euere more, It wile not wone in hire witte. For þis it is þat I sike sore [ 5] For bretherhed, as god vs bitte, & if Cristis wil it wore, Fayn I wolde amendin itte.

II.

If Christ haue sent vs witt & wille & craft of clergye, for to preche, [ 10] We schuld fayn his hestis fulfille, As ferfort has oure wit wold areche. Ȝonge & olde, hold ȝow stille: As bretherin alle I wile ȝow teche, For he þat can & haþ no wille, [ 15] He may sore dowte of Cristis wreche.

III.

Þerfor I haue on Englisch wrouht, As Bernard seyth in his Latyn, He may be glad in al his þouht, Þat his besynes leyde þer in. [ 20] Þe gospel wile forsake it nouht, For he it wrot in parchemyn; Seynt John his bok, if it be souht, Her of it wile ben witnesse myn.

IV.

Þat while þat god on erthe ȝode, [ 25] Alle his myraclis wretin were: Þer is no clerk, in boke may rede Þe goodnes þat he dide to vs here. Men & women, ȝe schul han mede, If ȝe me listne alle in fere, [ 30] If I mys say, takiþ good hede, Wisse me to telle þe beste to lere.

V.

Fader, sone & holi gost, Almyhti god in trenyte, Mi mone is to the modir most [ 35] [15 þat] om. ms. 21 þe] Danach w, unterpunktet. 27 Davor þat tyme þat god, unterpunktet.]

Ful of grace and of pite, Þouh I be synful, as þou it wost, Swich grace, lord, þou sende to me, Sum word to speke wiþ out bost, Þat sum man may þe betere be! [ 40]

VI.

It is gret dool to telle & say Of god, þat deyde vpon þe rode, How he vpon þe good friday For vs alle schad his blode. Alle his disciplis fled away, [ 45] But Marie & John be him stode. Þer is no tunge, þat tellin may Þe goodnesse of his moder good.

VII.

For sche him bar as god & man And setthe clepid him Jesu, [ 50] Sche offerid him to Symean: Þat prophete ful wel his lord knew; An aungil warnid oure ladi þan Of king Herode, þat was vntrew, And bad hire vnto Egipt gan [ 55] For drede of þat feloun Jew. [v. 56 Jew] J aus r corr.]

VIII.

Euere was Marye wel anow, Whan sche hire swete sone seye: Whedir þat euere Jesu drow, He was neuere out of hire eye. [ 60] Setthe þe Jewis dide him gret wow, Harde peynys sche saw him drye.

His hand naylid vpon a bow, & on þe cros þei heng him heye.

IX.

Þow sche were wo, no wunder was, [ 65] Sche saw him blodi bodi & crowne, Hire sone, þat was so gilteles, Stremyd of blod, þat ran riht downe. To seen his peynys þer was pres, Women him folewid þorw þe towne, [ 70] Sore weping wiþ oute les, & made dole for his passiowne.

X.

Jesu him turnid ful mylde & meke And seyde a word of gret pite, To þe women he dide speke [ 75] And seyde: Wepit not for me, fol. 22 But wepiþ for ȝow & youre childer eke, Þei don me sorow, as ȝe may se: No wunder, if Maries herte myhte breke, Þat saw hire sone so betin be. [ 80]

XI.

Whan he was betin & scorgid sore, His frendis fled fro him good wone. III dayes oure feyth was ilore, Saf in þe thef & Marye alone. Seynt Bernard witnessiþ it before [ 85] And so doth hire cosyn John; For sorwe þat sche had thore, Out of hire eyen þe blod gan gone.

XII.

Þe blod out of hire eyen ran, Al most hire herte clef in two; [ 90] Seynt Bernard, þe holi man, Witnessiþ wel, þat it was so. In to a temple he wente þan, To witen of þat ladyes wo, & sche him fayre freyne gan, [ 95] To witen, what his wil was þo.

XIII.

He seyde: »Ladi, if it be þi wille, Telle me, as þou art heuene quene, If þou wepte þin herte fille, Whan men dide þi sone þat tene, [ 100] Boundin him & betin him ille & crownid him wiþ thornis kene? He bar him euere mylde & stille, As non harm on him had bene.

XIV.

Swete ladi, were þou there tho, [ 105] Whan men him betin & bounden faste? I hope, þou were not fer him fro, Þin herte is so stif & stedfaste. Allas, allas! whi dide þei so? Whi is myn herte so vnwraste, [ 110] Þat it ne wile cleue in two Or wepe, whil my lyf may laste?

XV.

Ladi, I am in greet longing, To seen þat sihte, þat þou there seye, Whan þou gan þin handis wring, [ 115] Þe teris ran doun be þin eye; Þou saw þi sone wiþ naylis sting & on a tre þei heng him heye. Whi ne were myn herte in Þi mournyng, Whan þou him saw swich peyne drye? [ 120]

XVI.

Allas, for sorwe þin herte myhte kyne, Whan þou saw þin owne fode, Goddis sone, his heuid doun clyne, Þer as he heng vpon þe rode! Þouh he were god, þe flesch was thyne, [ 125] Þat swete bodi, þat ran on blode. Allas, whi ne were þat sorwe myne Or I had stonde, þer þat þou stode? [v. 121-128] im ms. hinter v. 144.]

XVII.

Whan þat he his lyf forsoke, He bowid his heuid & lost his sihte; [ 130] His leue he nam, his wey he toke Vp to his fader ful of myht; As beriþ witnesse þe holi boke: Þat day þe sunne lost his sihte; Þe temple claf, þe erthe quoke, [ 135] Þe dede men arisen, þe soth to plyhte. [v. 129-136] im ms. durch ein versehen des abschreibers hinter v. 120 gestellt.]

XVIII.

Ladi, þi loue is naturel, & my loue is swiþe lite,

Be þi weping it semiþ wel: No clerk þi sorwe ne may write. [ 140] Allas, whi no had I loue sumdel, Þat to myn herte it myhte smyte? Þat is hardere þan any stel, May no bale þerin bite.

XIX.

Swete ladi, take not to greef, [ 145] If I speke of his peynys mo! To speken of him it were me leef, For I wile not his loue forgo. I se him hangin as a theef, Goddis sone and þin also: [ 150] Ladi, þe teris, þat þou þer ȝef, Graunte me summe to han of tho!

XX.

Ladi, queen ful of blisse, As I am here in gret perile, Swete ladi, þou me wisse, [ 155] Þouh I be synful man & vile, As þou art mayden & moder iwis: What dide my lord in þat exile? Whan he was pynid wiþ þe Jewis, Whiche were his werkis in þat while? [ 160]

XXI.

Bernard, þe wordis of þi mouþe To myn herte han schotin a spere, His was al as mannys ȝouþe(!), Iwis, it doth myn herte dere! But weping is me not vnkouþe, [ 165]

If þou wile of peynys lere; Setthe of weping þou askist nouþe, I schal the tellin wiþ swete answere!

XXII.

If I to the of peynys speke, My riht were, to wepin sore, [ 170] Myn herte is hard & may not breke, It is no þing, it wile meltin fore. I wolde, it were in a stede to steke, Wiþ eye to wepe for euere more; May no tere fro myn eye reke, [ 175] To wepin, as my wil it wore.

XXIII.

Qvod Bernard: Queen of heuene & helle, Þou bar him, þat vs dere bouhte: How so it be, þou must me telle Of þing, þat I haue the besouhte: [ 180] Where were þou, whan men wold him quelle —In Jerusalem, þe fayre cite, it was wrouhte— And takin wiþ þe Jewis felle, & setthe be nyhte beforn Cayphas brouhte?

XXIV.

Oure ladi seyde: I was there tho; [ 185] Ful sore I wepte & wrong myn hond. Whan þe Jewis led him me fro, To wepin sore I myhte not wond.

It was no wunder, if me were wo, But wunder it is, þat I myhte stonde, [ 190] Whan I saw him to peynis go & bounden & betin & don al schonde.

XXV.

On Scherthursday wiþin þe nyht Þe Jewis toke him alle in same; Þei souht him wiþ lanternis briht [ 195] & callid him Jesu be his name. Mi sone answerid hem in hire siht: Do these men for me no blame! For al þe peyne, þat þei him diht, He wold, his disciplis had no schame. [ 200]

XXVI.

For þe encheson of his taking He wolde, þat non þe werse were; He schewid þat in al maner þing Thanne there & elliswhere. Petir stod vnto fihting [ 205] & smot of a mannys ere, But he leet be at his seyeng, And as sone he helid it there.

XXVII.

Judas, þat was ful of þe fend, Ȝet my sone his tresoun wiste [ 210] & callid him ȝet his dere frend, And myldeli he him kiste. Þe Jewis harm had neuere non ende, My dere sone tobetin and biste; Wiþ wepenys aboute him þei gan wende [ 215] & bete him wiþ stanys & wiþ fiste.

XXVIII.

Seyde Bernard: Ladi, I prey the, Ȝet telle me mor of myn asking: Thi swete sone, what dide he? Whi stod he not wiþ no fihting? [ 220] Be rihtful skile men may se, He myhte hem alle to deth bring! Swete ladi, now telle it me, Al his semblaunt & his bering.

XXIX.

A Bernard, & I teris had, [ 225] Now myhte I wepe al my fille; Of sorwe am I neuere sad, [v. 227 neuere] n corr. aus h.] Whan I þinke on his peynys ille. But how he was fro me lad, I haue the told & ȝet I wille; [ 230] I was in greet sorwe bestad, But euere I folewid crieng schille.

XXX.

Þei hid his eyen & buffet him tho & bad him rede, what þat he wore, And othere peynys dide him mo, [ 235] Ne may no tunge tellin more. Beside þer stod my susteris two, Þat had louid him longe before, And Marie Magdaleyn also, Þat truli louid him & his lore. [ 240]

XXXI.

Hire loue was euere stedfast & trewe, And I him louid ful tendirli, For strong is loue of frendis newe, & of þe moder grettest namly.

I saw him neuere chaungin hewe, [ 245] But as a lomb wiþ outen cry. Alle were sory, þat him knewe, Riche & pore & alle him bi.

XXXII.

Fro Cayphas paleys þei him drow Riht to Pilate, him to spille. [ 250] þei tok non hede, þei dide him wow, [v. 251 wow] durchstrichen, von jüngerer hand sorow hingeschrieben, mit blässerer tinte.] þei ȝede wiþ him wiþ good wille. Euere was Jesu meke inow, He suffrid hem & held him stille. Pilate wold not, þat men him slow, [ 255] For in his dedis he fond non ille.

XXXIII.

þei stripid him nakid on a stounde & bounde him to a pilere all day, [258 all] MS. at, von jüng. hand in all verw. Im ms. folgen die beiden verse 269 und 270 erst auf v. 272.] Bete him, whil þei warm him founde; þan was my song: Weleaway! [ 260] Fyue þousand & IIII hunderid wounde On him þei mad, for soth to say; On skorn þei seyde & fil to grounde: þat prophecye nouht helpin the may!

XXXIV.

Mi dere frend, gret was my care, [ 265] Whan þei cride alle þan: Ȝeue him dom, þe cros is ȝare, & delyuere vs Barraban!

Goddis sone to deme thare For a thef, þat þei wold han, [ 270] Bernard, here was sori fare, Swich a dom had neuere man.

XXXVI.

Þus þe Jewis sterne & stoute, Mi sone þei held in hard bonde. Pilate had of hem mor doute, [ 275] Þan he had of goddis sonde, For he led him þer wiþ out [v. 277 Hinter For rasur.] & dampnid him to þe Jewis honde. Þe Jewis tuggid him al aboute, And I for sorwe myhte not stonde [ 280]

XXXVII.

Whan he was dampnid & out sent, Alle þei dide him greet despite. He tok þe cros & forþ he wente, Þei skornid him, mekil & lite. Allas þat lomb, þat innocent, [ 285] Þo wuluys wilde him so sore bite: Þat sorwe is in myn herte so bent, Mi care I may hem alle wite.

XXXVIII.

Þei mad game & gret lawhing, Whan þei betin him althermest; [ 290] Þei bad him seye, if he were king, Þei wolde don þan alle at his hest. Mi sone answerid hem no þing, Þouh his peyne were wiþ þe mest, But bar þe cros til his parting [ 295] Mekeli, as it were a beste.

XXXIX.

I folewid & swownid many a sithe, My susteris ȝedin aboute me; I callid to hem, as I myht kithe, Whan I for pres myhte him ouht se: [ 300] Sone, I seyde, þou hiest þe swithe & berist on þi bak so heuy a tre, And leuist þi moder behinde vnblithe! Bernard, þan gamyd me no gle!

XXXX.

Merci, quod Bernard, heuene queen, [ 305] Þat þou so mekil hast me told! Ȝet þer is moche mor, I wene, Of þingis, þat I witen wold: How bar my lord him, ladi schene, Among þe Jewis stout & bold? [ 310] Ladi, þi tellingis alle bedene, But I hem wite, my care is cold!

XLI.

Of þe, ladi, & of þi child I wold wite an ende of strif, If my lord were meke & mylde [ 315] Vnto þe ende of al his lyf? I haue seen manye in wateris wilde, In stremys & wawis stoute & blyf, But atte laste þei wold hem schilde & wiþ al hire myht sauen hire lyf. [ 320]

XLII.

I haue seen fele, þat wolde loute Riht vnto þe erthe þat þei sye, For drede to deye þan had þei doute, Hire hertis resin þan on hye.

Whan þe Jewis com him aboute, [ 325] How myhte he alle hire wordis drye, In his face to spitte and to spoute, How myhte he suffere þat vilanye?

XLIII.

BEernard, broþir, his herte was stif Mekeli he sufferid al hire fare; [ 330] For manye soulis was him leef, He wolde, his blod bouhte hem alle thare. I saw him hangin as a thef, He saw, I stod in mekil kare, Ȝet dide my weping him mor gref, [ 335] Þan alle þe peynes, þat he bare.

XLIV.

And þat þing was wel sene, Whan he delyuerid me to seynt John: Meke he was, wiþ outen wene, Þat tyme he lokid me vpon. [ 340] Þan wex he boþe ȝelow & grene, Of anguys now I make my mone. I wile the telle al bedene His harde peynes euerilkone.

XLV.

Herkin to me, broþir Bernard, [ 345] I wile the tellin of peyne ȝet mor, Þin herte schal ben swiþe hard, But if it greue the ful sore. Þouh I a parti haue it spard [v. 349 spard] ms. sparid.] Of my peynes here before, [ 350] I schal the tellin here afterward A þousand part þat hardere wore.

XLVI.

Bernard, I saw my sone þer hong, As it had ben a mayster thef, Wiþ sidis blo & sore beswong, [ 355] Þat white were and me ful leef. Þei crownid him wiþ thornis strong, On eueri side þei dide him greef, Þei drow him on þe cros al along, His senewis þei borstin, so þei dref. [ 360]

XLVII.

Þe blod ran doun fro his heuid, Þat likid þe cursid Jewis ful wel. Wiþ spotil & blod he was al beweuid, Þat he was lyk a foul mesel. He was so drawin & todreuid, [ 365] Naylid wiþ III naylis of stel. Þan was my ioye me bereuid, Þat sihte grovid(!) my fol euel. [v. 368 grovid—fol] von jüngerer hand und schwächerer tinte übergeschr. was my dethis auf d. z. ausgestr.]

XLVIII.

Allas, þin heuid þei al torace, Þat was wonid lye to my brest: [ 370] I saw it honge & had no space, Wher on it myhte ouht han reste. [v. 372 ouht] von jüngerer hand durchgestr.] To come to him had I no grace, Þat was wonid ben to him alþer neste; Þei heng him at an hey space, [ 375] There as ȝede boþe man & beste.

XLIX.

So fayr a man was neuere non, As beriþ witnes holi writte. Þer was his fayrhed þan al gon,

As þe apostelis tellin itte. [ 380] I had a sone, þan had I non, Me wantid boþe wele & witte, Bernard, I ne wiste, whedir to gon, Sorwe was in myn herte so knytte.

L.

But had þei hongid me him bi, [ 385] [v. 385 þei] om. ms. 393 my] ü. d. z. nachgetr.] Mi sorwe had ben in schortere spas; I stod & lokid vp on hi, Wher heng my ioye & my solas. Þe Jewis saw me þan sori, Þei bad me leue wiþ sori gras; [ 390] But euere I was him ful ny, For al my care I folewid his tras.

LI.

And often I cride on my manere, But þer was I noþing herd; [v. 394. Fol. 25^a Membran Bl.] & whan I cride, he wold not here, [ 395] [v. 395 he] ms. þei, was keinen sinn giebt.] My pyne witnessiþ lewid & lerd; [v. 396 lerd ms. lerid.] I seyde: Merci, my sone so dere, Alone þou leuist me in deserd. Wol febil I was weping in fere, And of hire vilenye aferd. [ 400] [v. 399 und 400 im ms. hinter]

LII.

Allas, Bernard, þat I schuld se My sone naylid þorw hand & fete! I cride: Sone! lete me deyen wiþ the! Longe or he his lyf forlete. Mi sone, my lord, myn herte gle, [ 405] Þou hast ben boþe mylde & swete,

But þou haue mercy now on me, Who myht ellis my bale bete?

LIII.

Sone, þou hast ben fayr & hende, & bletheli don al þat I bad; [ 410] If þou leue me at swich an ende, Of sorwe schal I neuere ben sad. [v. 412 n corr. aus h.] Ful loth is deth, þer he wile lende, But now wold I of him ben glad; He ne may so sone his spere sende, [ 415] Þat soner I wolde þer of ben stad!

LIV.

I cride: Magdaleyn, helpe now, —Mi sone haþ euere ȝet louid the— [v.418 haþ] þ in y verw. und t übergeschr.] And bidde him, þat I deye mow, Þat I nouht forȝetin be! [ 420] Magdaleyn mylde, ne seest þou, how [v.421 ne] watt m. j. hd. übergschr.] Mi sone hangiþ vpon ȝone tre, And ȝet on lyue I am & þou? Þat I myht deye, þou preye for me!

LV.

Magdaleyn seyde: I can no red, [ 425] Sorwe haþ smetin myn herte sore. Her I stonde & se him ner ded, But þi weping greuiþ me more. Come wiþ me, & I schal the lede Vnto a stede, þou saw not ore; [ 430] Þer may we morne wiþ oute drede, Stille oure loue, as nouhte ne wore.

LVI.

I askid hire, where was þat plas, In pleyn, in valey, or in hil, Þer I myhte ben for eny cas, [ 435] Þat no sorwe ne come me tille

Of him, þat al my ioye was? Now deth wiþ him haþ don his wille. In no stede is my solas, But for to wepe euere al my fille. [ 440]

LVII.

I cride on him: Jesu, sone hende, Swete fader, what schal I do? I may not bryng the out of bende, Ne þou may not come me to, And best me were hom to wende, [ 445] But for sorwe I may not go, Ne þou wilt me no solas sende Ne Magdaleyn ne othere mo.

LVIII.

Magdaleyn comfortid me tho & seyde: Go hom! þat were þe beste. [ 450] Care haþ smetin myn herte so, At hom schuld I fynde no reste. I seyde to hire: Whedir so I go, Al my ioye now haue I leste. Whil þat my sone hongiþ so [ 455] Care comiþ neuere out of my brest. [v. 456 comiþ] über þ von j. h. t geschr.]

LIX.

I se my sone, my fader dere, Hie hange here vpon þis tre. Wiþ oute peyne I dide him bere, & now wile deth fordon my gle, [ 460] How schuld I lete him hangen here & suffere him alone to be? Ow, Magdaleyn, vnkynde I were, If he schuld hange & I schuld fle!

LX.

Vnder þe cros beleuen I wille, [ 465] I se my flesch hongin þer on; Of þat sihte had I neuere my fille,

Whil I saw him on erthe gon. I bad hem gon wher was þer wille, Þe Magdaleyn & hem ilkon, [ 470] For I wold there beleue stille, I wold not fle for Jewis non.

LXI.

Than spak Bernard wordis swete, For Magdaleyn gan he say: Sche saw þi sorwe so vnmete [ 475] Ful fayn wold sche an had a way . . . [v. 476 sche an] fraglich; wold—way von j. hand, schuld haue mad þe lay auf der zeile ausgestr.]

LXII.

I cride: Sone, drinke it nouht! Þe Jewis for pyne to the it made; Ful bitter to the thei it wrouht, Þe stink to felin, þou myht ben sad. [ 480] Wol loueli þan he me besouht, Þat I schuld stilli make me glad: For wiþ þis drink Adam is bouht; Þis drink is, as my fader bad.

LXIII.

Þerfor I prey the, moder hende, [ 485] Leue þi cri & wepe no more! To my fader I muste wende & bringe to him þat was forlore. And setthe for the I schal sende: Moder, I muste gon before, [ 490] To ordeyne þer þou schalt lende, For ioye & blisse schal euere ben thore.

LXIV.

Bernard, þe Jewis ful of pryde, II theuys þei heng him bi On eueri half his swete side; [ 495] Þat on began to crien merci; Þat oþer answerid in þat tide: »He hangiþ heyere, þan þou or I, Vpon a cros wiþ woundis wide, To askin him help, it is foly! [ 500]

LXV.

Þat oþer answerid: Man, art þou wod? Jesu is dampnid wiþ fals red; He dide neuere nouht but good, He is not worþi to ben ded. To Jesu he seyde wiþ mylde mod: [ 505] »Whan þou comist to þi godhed, For vertu of þin holi blod To þi regne þe wey me lede!

LXVI.

Mi sone þan seyde his avys: For þi trouþe wel schal þou be! [ 510] Þerfor I graunte the paradys, To day þou schalt my ioye se! I stod & lokid on hem iwis, How þei deyde on þe tre. Þat one soule wente to heuene blis, [ 515] Þat oþer thef to helle gan fle. [gan] Danach g, ausgestr.]

LXVII.

Bernard, þis was to me gret solas, How sone þe thef heuene wan. Þan wiste I wel be þat cas, Þat my sone was god & man. [ 520] And as I stod in þat plas, Mi sone lowde crien began: Heloy, heloy! his crieng was; Lamazabathani! he seyde þan.

LXVIII.

Þis was a word of gret pite, [ 525] To vnderstonde englisch þer bi: Fader, god in trenyte, Whi forsakist þou me, whi? Swete fader, I prey to the, Take my soule fro my bodi! [ 530] Þou wost wel, þin schal it be: Now is fulfillid þe propheci.

LXIX.

Vnto helle his gost gan wende, As his faderis wil it was, To bring Adam out of bende [ 535] & for to bynde Sathanas. Sone þer com a lotheli fend And sette him be my sonis fas, To take þe soule & to helle it sende, But no synne in his bodi was. [ 540]

LXX.

Þat sihte dide me werst of alle, For as ded I fel there doun; My susteris began aboute to falle Wepinge, & made ruful soun. John, my cosyn, gan me vp calle [ 545] And wold me lede toward þe toun. Now haue I told & brouht to stalle Þe peynes of his passioun.

LXXI.

Seynt Bernard to Marie answerid: Ladi, blissid mote þou be! [ 550] [v. 550 Danach eine rasur von 2 b.] Of Scherthursday now haue I herd, How he was bounden & led fro the, & also of good friday, how it ferd, Whan þe Jewis heng him on þe tre; But how þi sone was beried, [ 555] My swete ladi, telle þou me!

LXXII.

And how he was takin doun, Telle me, Marie, modir mylde, Of þe cros after his passioun, Þer þou were for þi childe, [ 560] And Joseph cam so redi & boun, His bodi of þe cros doun to hilde Wiþ preyere and wiþ good resoun Fro Pilat & fro þe Jewis wilde!

LXXIII.

And how he was leyd in þe ston, [ 565] Telle me, ladi briht and schene, & whiche were his frendis euerichon, Þat wold at his beryeng bene: Þe wordis of the & of seynt John, I wold wite hem alle bedene, [ 570] & how þou kepedist the, whan þei were gon In temple fro þi sone, I mene!

LXXIV.

Marie answerd: Bernard, allas! Whi woldist þou mor aske ȝet of me? And I telle ferthere þis harde cas, [ 575] Þe swerd of sorwe in myn herte wile be!

Joseph vnto Pilate tok his pas, To haue þe bodi doun of þe tre. Pilate it grauntid & Cayphas, As sone so þei wiste, þat ded was he. [ 580]

LXXV.

Pilatis knyhtis sterne & stoute, Forth wiþ Joseph gan þei wende, And other Jewis felle & proude, Fele his fos & fewe his frende. Þei ȝede þe theuis al aboute [ 585] & dide brek hire boþe lende. Bernard, I was þan in greet doute, Þei wold so serue my sone so hende!

LXXVI.

I folewid after wiþ al my myht John & also my sisteris two. [ 590] Bernard, þou schalt herin, apliht, Þe strengest poynt of al my wo! Among hem þer stod a knyht, Blynd he was & lame also; Þei seyde alle, Longius he hiht; [ 595] Þei dide him vnder þe cros to go.

LXXVII.

Þei putte a launce in his hand & sette it to my sonis side. Þe Jewis on him were criand: Put vp, Longius, now is þe tide! [ 600] Þorw hem was Longius wel willand, To my sonis herte it gan glide; Blod & watir þer com rennand Out of þat wounde, þat was so wide.

LXXVIII.

Þan wax myn herte heuy so led, [ 605]

Whan I saw þat ruful sihte, Þe watir wiþ þe blod so red, To Longius hand it ran doun rihte, Doun I fel, as I were ded; Lengere to stande had I no myht; [ 610] John, my cosyn, comfort me bed, & so dide Joseph, þat trewe knyht.

LXXIX.

Þe blod ran doun to Longius hond, He wipid his eyen & wel he sey; Þer is no creature in watir ne long, [ 615] Þat myht suffre þe sorwe, þat had I. On knes he þankid goddis sond, Toward heuene his heuyd on hi. Þat sihte my care mekil vnbond, So dide it my frendis, þat were me bi. [ 620]

LXXX.

Þe Jewis þan wente to Pilate & we lefte þer wiþ ruful roun; And whan þei were alle gon hire gate, I bad Joseph takin him doun: Til I haue him, me þinkiþ late, [ 625] For alle þe Jewis, þat ben feloun! Joseph seyde: We ben þer ate, To bring him to the, I am ful boun!

LXXXI.

Nichodemus þe naylis out drow & Joseph tok him in his arm. [ 630] Mi sone hem louid wel inow, Þei tok him doun wiþ outen harm, Fayre & softe fro þat bow, And leyden him in my barm. His swete mouth vpon me low [ 635] & I it kiste; it was not warm.

LXXXII.

An hunderid tymys I dide him kisse, Mouth & eyen, his chin also, & seyde: Sone, schal I the mysse, Glad ne worth I neuere mo! [ 640] And Joseph faste abouten is, His graue to dihte & him þer to, & euere I preyde him iwis, To beryen me wiþ him also.

LXXXIII.

His loue woundid me so faste, [ 645] Þat wepen I muste on al wise. Nerþeles I trowid euere stedefast, Þe thrid day þat he schuld vprise; Þe riht feyth in me he cast, As it was al his deuyse. [ 650] Ful wel I wiste it atte last, I schuld him seen among hise.

LXXXIV.

But I myhte neuere me forbere, Bernard, to wepe swiþe sore, Myn hondis to wringe, myn her to tere, [ 655] Whil he lay þer me before. I wene, if I durste it swere, If eny sorwe in aungelis wore, Þei myhte a wept many a tere, For sorwe, Þat Þei saw thore. [ 660]

LXXXV.

Setthe heuene was mad & erthe also And woman formyd after man, Was neuere ere swich sorwe ne wo, Þat any tunge of telle can. We mad sorwe, whan þei schuld go, [ 665] To bere my sone toward his stan. John and my susteris two, Many a tyme swownid þei þan.

LXXXVI.

Bernard, I cride ful pitousli: »Lordingis, what haue ȝe þouht? [ 670] It is my sone, I cri ȝow merci, For charite, grauiþ him nouht! Þei sparid no þing for me sureli, Til þei him to graue brouht; Þei lappid him in cloþis tendirli, [ 675] To leyen me there I hem besouht.

LXXXVII.

Joseph leyde him in þe ston And Nichodemus had woundin him wele; Oynementis ful swete þei leyde him on & dihte him in ful clene sendele. [ 680] [v. 680 him] ms. hem.] Bernard, þer was non oþer won, To berien him þei were ful snelle. Þan lokid I on my cosyn John, For sorwe boþe doun we felle.

LXXXVIII.

Whan we stod vp for sorwe vnweld, [ 685] I ne wiste, what me was best. Fingris towrithe none I ne feld, [v. 687 feld] ms. felid.] O weping koude I haue no rest. Þe ouer ston faste I beheld, Joseph wolde haue had it fest, [ 690] I fel betwix as a scheld, Til þat I his mouth had kest.

LXXXIX.

I swownid many a tyme wiþ alle, Or I of him myhte take my leue. Many a tere I lete doun falle, [ 695] Þer myhte no man it me bereue. I seyde: Sone, now gon I schalle, Now alle þi frendis schul the leue: Come now, deth, I wile the calle, I wold, þou myhtest myn herte cleue! [ 700]

XC.

Þan com John, & Magdaleyn eke, & saw, I was in poynt to spille, Ful myldeli to me þei speke, And held hire sorwe in herte ful stille; But euere hem þouhte hire hertis breke, [ 705] Þat þei durste not wepin hire fille. Nerþeles to towne þei me wreke Mor wiþ strif þan wiþ my wille;

XCI.

And whan we to þe cite come, Þer oure weyes schuld vntwynne, [ 710] I & othere oure leue nome And wente hom to oure inne. I swownid often and whilome, Of weping koude I neuere blynne; To spekin to hem had I no tome [ 715] For sorwe, þat myn herte was in.

XCII.

John led me to a chambir tho, Þer my sone was wonid to be; Magdaleyn & my susteris two, For no þing wold þei departen fro me. [ 720] Bernard, I lokid aboute me tho, But I coude not my sone se. We setten vs doun wiþ sori wo & gan to wepin alle thre.

XCIII.

Þus were we, Bernard, in greet care, [ 725] In sorwe of herte & long mournyng; Til þat we wiste, how it schuld fare, Euere we were in greet longing. Now haue I told the, wiþ oute spare, Alle my peynys at his parting. [ 730] But, Bernard, I was redi þare, To kepin him at his vprising.«

XCIV.

Seynt Bernard seyde: God ȝelde it the, Wif & moder & mayden mylde, Þat þou so mekil hast told to me [ 735] Of þi sorwe & of þi chylde! Now am I sekir, wher so I be, In toun or feld, in ȝongþe or elde, To don þe foule fend to fle, Þat euere to helle wold don me helde. [ 740]

XCV.

Now, ladi, for þat ilke wo, Þat no tunge may half telle, Of the & of þi sone also, Þat ȝow dide þe Jewis felle: Late neuere non of alle tho, [ 745] Þat cristnid arn & in þis world dwelle, Whan þei schul passen þe world al fro, To seen þe peyne, þat is in helle!

XCVI.

This ryme mad an hermyte & dide it writen in parchemyn; [ 750] Barfot he wente in gray habyte, He werid no cloth, þat was of lyn. Þus on englisch he dide it write, He seyth, he drow it of þe Latyn. His mede lord Jesu him quyte [ 755] & seynt Bernard, clerk of deuyn!

XCVII.

And we schul preye, þat here it rede, [v. 757 here] Danach in, unterpunkte.] For him now an orisoun, & don it smertlich in dede Wiþ a ful good deuocioun, [ 760] Þat Jesu Crist his soule lede To blisse in his processioun, And there for to han his mede Þorw vertu of his passioun. Amen. [ 764]