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

Ad missam in Nocte Natalis Domini secundum Lucam.

Exiit edictum a Cesare Augusto ut discriberetur uniuersus orbis. Hec descriptio prima facta est a preside Syrie Cyrino. et cetera.

Ad missam in Mane secundum Lucam.

Pastores loquebantur ad inuicem. Transeamus usque Beth∣leem, et videamus hoc verbum quod factum est, quod fecit Dominus et ostendit nobis. Et uenerunt festinantes, et inuene∣runt Mariam, et Iosep. et cetera.

VA and wanderet walkes wide, That com of couaitis and prid, Toru couaitis and prid, bigan Man to haf maystri of man. That wasse first sen in him that hiht Nembrot, that was sa bald and wiht, That in his tim maistri he wan Of al the men that lifd than. The bibel telles us openlye Of Nembrot and his maistri, Hou the folc that was wit him Bigan to mak a tour that tim,

That suld reche to the lifte, Bot Godd that skilfulli kan skift, Mad them alle serely spekand, That nan moht other understand, And gert them lef thair wilgern werk, Bot of thair not yet standes merk, In Babilony the tour yet standes, That that folk mad wit thair handes. Of that tour nou spek I, For lauerdhed and for maistri, That Nembrot hauid first of man, Bifor quaim werdes king was nan. For he, thoru prid and couaitise, Gert folc first bowe til his seruise, Of him men gan ensampel tak, King and thain in land to mak, For efter him com kinges fele, That gan this werld imang thaim dele, And he that hauid mast miht, Feld the waiker king in fiht, Bot at the last, wan Rom the prisse, And toc of al this werld seruisse. For alle kinges yald trouage Till Rom, and seruis and homage. In Rom was, als fel auntour, A wonder myhti emperour,

That hiht Cesar and Augustus, Als our bibel telles us, And in his tim ger he telle, Als sais sayn Louc in our godspelle, Of all this werd the cuntres, And of cuntres the cites, And al the men that war wonand Bathe in borwis and apon land, Sua that ilk man of eld Suld cum til his boru, and gif yeld For himself and for his menye, And graunt that he suld buxum be, Efter his miht in al thing, Til Cesar, that of Rom was king; And ouer al this werd, thoru and thoru, Com men and wymmen til thair boru, To do the king comandement, For qua sa did noht, he war schent. And than was Josep Mari spouse, For he hauid broht hir than til house, And forthi led he hir him with Til Bedhelem imang his kith, To yeld thar that to thaim felle, Als said to day our first godspelle. And for Mari wit child wasse, He ledd hir wit him on an asse,

And an ox, as we find in spelle, Broht Josep wit him for to selle. Bot ar thai war to toun comen, War innes al bifor thaim nomen, Sua that thar was na herberie To Josep and his spouse Marie, Bot a pendize [that] was wawles, Als oft in borwis tounes es. And thar Josep a crithe wroht Til bestes that he wit him broht, And als he mad a pouer bedd Til Mary, that he wit him ledd, For than com tim Mari mild Suld be deliuerd of hir child. And son quen scho deliuerd wasse, Scho laid hir son bifor [hyr] asse, [And by fore that ox bathe, So thay knew hym fore Gode full rathe. For in propheci was it sayd, That he sulde before thaim be layde. Fore Abakuk and Ysay Spak tharof apeyrtly; And hyrdes that woke that ilke nyght About thair bestes, saght a lyght Of heuen come lightand thaim aboute, And of this lyght thai had a grete doute,

And an aungell bysyde thaime stode, And gladded sone thair sory mode, And bad thai sulde haue na radnes. Forethi, he sayd, I comen es To bryng you bodword of that blys, That sall glad all this werld, I wys, For Crist, God sonne, ryght nowe Ys borne in Bethleem unto ȝowe, That ȝe be syker of this hehtynge, I gyf you this to takenynge, That ȝe sall fynd a chylde thar bonnden In a creke, wit cloutes wonnden. When this [was] sayd, aungelles fele Louid God wit this aungele, And [saide], blys and yoi in heuen be To worthy Gode in trinite, And als in erthe to man be pees, That in ryght trewthe and gude lyf es. Aftyr this brygnes and this leme, Thare herdes come to Bethleem, And fand in chyldebede our Lauedy, And als so Joseph standand hyr by, And the chylde in strethe layde, Ryght als the aungele thaim had sayd, And by that takyn knew thai ryght, That that was Criste that lang was hyght,

Before that tyme, in many prophecy, And thai loued God full gerne forthi, For blys that thar in was layd. And Mari toke yeme what thai sayd, And held in hert thair wordes all, And thoght well what of Criste suld fall. Now haue ȝe herd whare Criste was borne, That boght us all when we war lorne. Full wele burd us of hys byrth Be glade, and make bath yoi and myrth, And loue God, that hym us sende, And wit penaunce oure lyue to amend. For in his burght now may we lere Meknes, that mas man tyll him dere, For Criste wit swylke mekenes ferde, That mare meknes was neuer harde, Forethi bird us ensampell take Of hys meknes, and pryd forsake, When we thynk inwerdly how he, That es sa heght in Trinite, Was sa meke that he wald take Flesche and blode for mannes sake, And sythen be borne thus purely O the pouer mayden Mary, Noght in castyll, ne in tour, Ne in hall, ne in boure,

Bot in a pouer pentiȝ, I wys, That lytill was of worldes blys. That Lord that syttes heght in tronne, And schope bath sterne, sone, and mone, And heuen, and hell, and erth, and fee, And makes frute and flour of tre, And all this worlde made of noght, And man aftyr hys lyknes wroght, Wham all that lyues, loues and loutes, For mannes sake was layde in cloutes. Whar hard man euer of swylk meknes, Me thynk that he unsely es, That lyues in pryde and enuy here, And wyll of Criste na meknes lere. A pryde and enuy wa ye be, Fore garn burd us that athe fle, When we thynk how thai sall far, That wyll noght lete at Cristes lare, Ne folow hys trasce in meknes, That es grunde of all gudnes. Fore thurght meknes es Mary, Of heuen and erth, qwene and lady, And Satanas thurght pride he fell Oute of heuen doune into hell. In heuen was he aungell fayreste, And sythen in hell, fend laytheste.

O pryde comes all his unsell, That neuer may slake ne kell. Fore all wa that in this werlde es, Come of pryde and of unbuxumnes; For gyf Adams pryd ne war, He had bene qwyt of sorow and kar, Bot for he ȝernede for to be Als wys als Gode, forthi was he Thurght pryde, maked full unwys, And flemed oute of paradyse. God flemed noght hym allane, Bot thurght hys pryde, us euerilkane. Fore had he bene in ryght meknes, He had haldyn buxumnes, And done als his lorde hym bade, And endles in ioy bene stede, Noght he allane, bot hys ofsprynge Suld ay haue lyued wyht outen ende, If he had bene buxume hym to, That taght hym all how he suld do. Bot fore he troued mar hys wyfe Then God, that gaf hyme lym and lyfe, And brak Goddes commaundment, Forthi was all hys ofsprynge schent, And oute of paradyse flemede, And to pyne of hell demede.

Forthi come Goddes sone to menne, The way of mekenes thaim to kenne, And in hys burght meknes he us kende, And in hys lyfe, and in hys ende; And forthi es gude that we be meke, And our lorde Criste in mekns seke. Fore it es na thyng that swa schendes, Na dose sa mekyll schame to fendes, Als dose meknes, whar wit Criste boght Mankynde fra hell, when he thus wroght. That may we by that takenyng se, That gars fendes fra us flee, That es the takenynge of the rode, Whar on Criste schede hys blode. He schewed the maste meknes thar, That euer he schewed sythen, or ar, And for the Fende was ay and es Proude, may he tholl bot na meknes, And forthi when men the takyne mas Of the cros, then flees Satanas. For na thyng es, als I sayd are, That woundes Satanas sa sare, Als dos the takenying of meknes, Fore agayne the fende mast it es. That may ȝe be saint Martyn see, For in his lyue thus writen find we,

That als he was in orisoune, Then come the Fende als kyng wit croune, Cled in pall and in rych wede, And sayd, Martyne, I will the lede To heuen, that bese thi beste bewyste, For wyt ȝou well that I am Criste, That may thou by my fayrnes se, Forthi will I that thou loute me. And sant Martyn thurght grace it wyste, That he was noght Jhesu Crist, And sayd to hym wyt mylde chere, Wyll I noght se my lord here, Bot in that blys, thare he ay es. And for this worde of meknes, The Fend went away als reke, And fled hym for hys answar meke. And of saint Anton fynd we, That swa meke and myld was he, That thurght meknes, many tyme Flayed he fendes fell fra hyme. And als he was hys ane in stede, He saw how all the erth was sprede, Wyt pantre bandes, and gylders blake, That Satanas had layd to take Mans saull, als a fouler Tas foules wyt gylder and panter.

Than sayd Antone, this gude ermyte, Lorde, what thyng sall passe qwyte, And be noght in this snarres tane, And God answerde, meknes allane. Anothyr ermyte hyght Makary, To wham the fende had grete enuy, And on a day the fend hym mete, Fore fayne he wald his sawes lette, And sayd, thou dos me grete dyspyte, For wyt na syne [may] I the smyte, And the pennance noght forthi I see the do, all that do I. Thou fastes mekyll, and I faste ay, For I ete nouthyr nyght na day, Thow wakys mekyll, and swa I do, For I hafe neuer ryste ne ro, Bot wyt a thyng pas thou me, Sa that I may noght do at the. And what es that, sayd Makary. Of thi meknes, he sayd, speke I, For wit meknes thou passes me, That schendes me, when I it se. For swa meke was Makary, That of hys meknes was ferly. In ermytage lange wonnd he, On felles, bysyde a gret cyte.

Out of the cyte was he flede, And als a ermytte swylke lyue he lede, That hys meknes and hys gude lyue Was sone in the cyte full ryue. Anothyr ermyte come hym tyll, And serued hym at all hys wyll. Fell auntour, that this Makary Come unto the cyte full rywely, To sell thar hys handwerke, And sa fell auntour, that a clerke Spak wit a burgas doghter swa, That synfull play laykyd thai twa. When scho wit chylde persayd was, Fadir askyd and modyr this case, Wha had done wit hyr foly, And scho answerede, a ermyte Makary. Full wrath wer all hyr frendes than Wyt Makary, that hali man. Thai gart take hym and do hym schame, Als he had spylte this wommane fame. Aboute the merket thai hym lede, And dange hym that hys body blede, And gart hym fynd borghes than, To fede and clethe this wyk wommane. The tother ermyte that serued hym Was bysyde that ilke tyme,

And thoght gret schame os this chaunce, And grete for hys maister penaunce. Makary prayd hym that he Suld in that cas his borow be, And he become hys borow thar, Full wa was hym for hys mysfar. To hymselfe sayd Makary, A wyfe has thou, and forthi Behoues the werk faster and mar, Baith nyght and day, than thou dyd ar, Els may thou noght wit thi dede Thi selfe and thi lemman fede. Bathe nyght wroght Makary and day, And sent this woman a pert ay, That he myght wit hys werke gete, And thar wytall scho boght hyr mete. This womane yode wit chylde full lange, And tholed paynes sely strang, For myght scho haue na delyueraunce, Ar scho had talde thurght whatkyne chaunce Scho consaywed, and thurgh whame, And qwyt sante Makary of hys blame. When hyr frendys herd of this, Thame thoght that thai had done of mys, When thai bette Sainte Makary, Forthi thai wald cry hym mercy,

And sainte Makary hard say At thai wald come, and flede away. For he was rad to tyne mekenes Wit louely worde and dereworthynes. For loufe word and worldes blys Gers men tyne meknes, I wys, Forthi flede Criste man louynge, When the Jewes wald make hym kynge; Fore worldes wandretht and pouerte Haldes meknes in many mans herte, And worldes welth mas man full made, Forthi Makary away it flede. Thir thre tales haue I you talde, To ger you in your hertes halde, That ay the halyar that a man es, The mar lufes he meknes; For Crist us kend, als I sayd ar, Meknes in all hys pouer far, For in his burght meknes he kende, And in hys liue, and at hys last ende. Forthi I rede that we faste pray, That Criste lede us here be the way Off meknes, unto that blys That to meke men graythede es.

Amen.

Notes

• Narracio.