English metrical homilies from manuscripts of the fourteenth century : with an introduction and notes / by John Small.

Prologus.

FADER and sun and haligast, That anfald God es ay stedfast, Worthi driht in trinite, A God a miht in persons iii, With outen end and biginning, Rihtwis Lauerd and mihti king, That mad of riht noht alle thing, And geres the erthe froit forth bring, Wit outen the nan froit mai spring, For al es loken in thi welding. Thou ert Lauerd that worthi drihte, That al ophaldes wiht thi mihte, Thou that al craftes kanne, Of erth and lam thou made manne, And gaf him gast of schilwisnes That thou mad efter thi liknes,

Thou filde this gaste sa full of witte, Sa quaynt and crafti mad thou itte, That al bestes er red for man, Sa mani wyle and wrenk he can. Forthi suld man in thi seruis Despend his witte and his quaintis, For thu gaf man skil and insiht, And heuenis blis thou hauis him hiht, To kouenand that he serue the riht, And se and knau thi mikel miht, On the bird be his mast thouht, That ses quat thou for him has wroht, And fra quat bale thou him broht, Quen thou fra helle on rode him boht. An unkind man es he, That turnes alle his thoht fra the, And wel bird ever ilk man, Lof God after that he kan, Lered men wit rihtwis lare, And laued folk wit rihtwis fare, Prestes wit matines and wit messe, And laued men wiht rihtwisnes, Clerk wit lar of Godes worde, For he haues in him Godes horde Of wisdom and of gastlic lare, That he ne an noht for to spare,

Bot scheu it forthe til laued menne, And thaim the wai til heuin kenne. For [all than] sal we yeld acount, Quat that wisdom mai amount, That God hauis giuen us for to spend, In god oys til our liues end. Forthi suld ilke precheour schau, The god that Godd hauis gert him knau, For qua sa hides Godes gift, God mai chalange him of thift. In al thing es he nouht lele, That Godes gift fra man wil sele, Forthi the litel that I kanne, Wil I schau til ilke manne, Yf I kan mar god than he, For than lif Ic in charite, For Godes wisdom that es kid, And na thing worthe quen it is hid, Forthi wil I of my pouert, Schau sum thing that Ik haf in hert, On Ingelis tong that alle may Understand quat I wil say, For laued men hauis mar mister, Godes word for to her, Than klerkes that thair mirour lokes, And sees hou thai sal lif on bokes,

And bathe klerk and laued man, Englis understand kan, That was born in Ingeland, And lang haues ben thar in wonand, Bot al men can noht, I wis, Understand Latin and Frankis, Forthi me think almous it isse, To wirke sum god thing on Inglisse, That mai ken lered and laued bathe, Hou thai mai yem thaim fra schathe, And stithe stand igain the fend, And til the blis of heuen wend, Mi speche haf I mint to drawe, Of Cristes dedes and his sau, On him mai I best found mi werke, And of his dedes tac mi merke, That maked al this werd of noht, And der mankind on rode boht, The faur godspellers us schawes, Cristes dedes and his sawes, Al faur a talle thay telle, Bot seer saues er in thair spelle, And of thair spel in kirk at messe, Er leszouns red bathe mar and lesse, For at euer ilke messe we rede Of Cristes wordes and his dede,

Forthi tha godspells that always Er red in kirc on sundays, Open Inglis wil Ic undo, Yef God wil gif me grace tharto, For namlic on the sunnenday, Comes lawed men thair bede to say To the kirc, an for to lere Gastlic lare that thar thai here, For als gret mister haf thay, To wit quat the godspel wil say Als lered men, for bathe er bouht Wit Cristes blod, and sal be broht Til heuenis blis ful menskelie, Yef thai lef her rihtwislie, For wil Ic on Inglis schau, And ger our laued brether knawe, Quat alle tha godspelles saies, That falles tille the sunnendayes, That thai mai her and hald in hert Thinge that thaim til God mai ert, And forthi at our biginninge, Pray we God of heuin kinge, That he help us for to bringe This ilk werk to god endinge, And gif me grace sua make This werk for laued mannes sake,

That I mai haf for my mede, Heuenrik blis quen I am dede, And our werk be worschipe To God, and to the fend scendschipe And joy til halwe and till angel, And cresten folk til sauel hel, That it be sua says inwardlye, Pater noster Ave Marie. Pat. nr. et cet.