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

Dominica infra Octavam Nativitatis Domini secundum Lucam.

Erant Ioseph et Maria mater Ihesu mirantes super his que dicebantur. et cetera.

THYSE Jewes made ilka zer Seuen festes on thair maner. But theder come both zong and olde, That war for Jewes in Jewery tolde, In to the temple for to her Goddes seruyse on thair maner, And for to make thair offerand thar, Efter that thair esse war. And fell auntour, when Criste was chylde, That both Joseph and Mary mild, Come to the temple omang thair kyth, And toke yong Jhesu tham wyth. And both Joseph and Mary Thoght of Jhesu gret ferly,

For ferlyes herd thai of hym tell, Als sayd saynt Luke in oure godspell. And in the temple fand thai than Seynt Symeon, the olde mane, That had the haly gaste hym ynne, And wyst what Crist suld thole for synne. He blyssed Joseph and Mary, And [childe] Jhesu that stod hym by, And spake of Crist, [and saide that he Was sett to many a man to be] Bath in rysyng and in fallyng, And in takyng of gayn seying, Als who say, gode men sall ryse, When this chyld sall be justyse On domesday, when wyk men sall In to the pitt of hell fall, Bot good men sall ryse and wende In to the blys wit owten ende. But thar he spak of taknyng [Was ment] of Cristes up rysyng, That was taknyng of gayne sawe, For Jewes wald noght hys rysyng knaw, It made tham sory and unfayn, And tharfor spak thay thare agayne. And forthi sayd sant Symeon Of Crist, when he layd hand hym on,

This chylde, he sayd, ys sett in taken That bes agayn sayd and forsaken. And to our Lady als spekes he, And sayd, so sorowefull sall thou be, That swerd of sorowe sall thorowe styng Thi sowle, for dol and murnyng. So dyd hyr hert for sorowe thorugh stang, When scho on rode sugh hyr son hang; And then was sene what Jewes thoght, When thai thoght bryng hym to noght. And als saynt Symeon spak thus To Mary, of hyr son Jhesus, So com thar gangand ane old wyf, That was a wydow of haly lyf, And thorowȝ prophecy scho wyst Full many thynges suld fall of Crist, And to the folk scho tald that tyme Thynges that suld fall of hym, How he was sent mans bote to be, And by man kynde on rode tre. When Mary and Joseph had done That fell to lawe, thai ȝode home sone, And wel wex Jhesu thair childe For grace and wysdom hym fullfylde. This es the strenght of our gospell, Als man on Englysch tounge may tell.

But a worde sayd saynt Symeone, That ys on sere manere undone, Ther he sayd, Jhesu our Lord Kyng Was sent in fallyng and rysyng. On a manere, the wordes may Full well betaken domesday, When gode men, als I sayd are, Sall ryse and to blys fare, And wykked folk sall fall doun Into hell, that foule dongoun. Bot men may se another thyng, In this fallyng and this rysyng, For the Jewes fell fra all gude, When thai slow Crist on the rode,] [And hethen men fra synne ras, That before was Criste faase. For thai rase gasteli with Criste Fra synne, when that thai ware baptiste, And wha swa euere es Cristis lyme, Him awe to rise gasteli with hyme. For when we of oure synnes us schryue, We rise gastely fra dede to lyue, Fra dede of synne to life of grace, That geres us fle the fendes trace, And we may see reeulye, That som men fallis in foly,

And risis of synne so wightlye, That bettir man es he in hye, Than euer ȝitt before was he, That be this tale we maye wele se. And ersbisschope beȝonde the se, [A Tale.] Was wonande in a saire cite. A hali man and gude he wase, Bot first he fell, and sithene he rase. The Fende at him had grete enuye, And gert him fall in lyccherye Apon a full selcouthe manere, Als ȝe may be this tale here. A nonnery was in that contree, Fyue myle fra the bisschope see, And in this ilk forsaide nonnrye Was wonand nonnes full manye, That serued God and oure Ladye, And kepid thaim wele fra uilanye. And aunter fell, that to that howse Come maydens Jhesu Criste to spouse. Thir maydens were sent thaire uayles to take Of that bisschope, of whaim I spake. This bisschope, als the manere es, Reueste him to synge his messe. Thir maydens come bifore the autere, And toke thaire uayles on gude manere.

And this bisschope his eye uppe kest To ane of thaim that was fayrest, And sone on hir his lufe was fest Swa harde, that he might haue na rest, For Sathanas did his maistrie, And fandid him with lyccherye. Swa nere his hert hir lufe gon lye, That right him thoght that he suld dye, Bot he had of hir his will, And might with hir his lust fullfill. Here maye ȝe se on whatkin wyse The Fend men fandes with his qwayntise, For ȝerne he lokis on ilka syde To gere us tyne heuens pride. Him think full lathe men come thare in, Forthi geres he men fall in synne. Thir nonnes when that thai halowid ware, Thai toke thaire leue hame to fare Full faire to thaire nonnrye, Bot this bisschope lefft sarye. So was he fondid inwardelie With brinnand lust of liccherie, That might he nouther ete ne drink, Ne haue night rest, ne slepe no wynk. For lust him thoght his hert wald brest, And he umthoght him what was best,

How he might this ilk nonne fange To slake his lust that was so strange. Than lettirs sent he hasteli, Unto the abbeys of that nonnrye, And bad scho suld come swithe him to, The nedes of hir house to do. When this abbeys thir tithandes herd, To the bisschope full sone scho ferd, And sone when scho was comen thare, The bisschop schewid her all his care. So mikil sorowe, he saide, I drye That for lufe all moste I dye. Bot if thou helpe me in this case, I may saye for euer allase. Helpe of me than sall thou tyne, Bot if thou helpe me of this pyne. I haue halden thi hous to right, And helpid the with all mi might, Now may thou me my trauaile ȝelde, If thou will to my langynge helde. I pray the, graunte me my will, And ger that nonne come me untill, That I had here ȝistirdaye, For allgate buse me with hir playe, Or elles forsothe, as I the saye, Dede mon I be or the thridde daye.

To do the gude I haue mynte, And if thou ne do, thou hase it tynt, And if thou helpe me in this nede, Full wele sall I qwite the thi mede, For now may I wele se and fynde, If thou to me will be kynde. I praie the, swithe graunte me my bone, And ger that nonne come to me sone. And neuened the nonne be hir name, For he lettid for na schame. When this abbes thir wordes herd, Scho was forwondird and afferde, For wende scho neuer mare to here The bischope speke of swilk matere, And scho umthoght hir als sone, What gude the bisschope had hir done, And to hir hous, and hir couent, For bathe he had hir giuen and lent. And ȝitt scho thoght hir forthermare That he hir gert be abbeys thare, And forthi thoght hir lathe In any thinge, to make him wrathe, And hir had leuar Goddes wrethe, Than for to haue hir bisschopes lethe. Forthi scho grauntid him his bone, And went hame to hir nonnry sone,

And priuely this nonne scho callde, And talde hir what the bisschope walde, And saide, bot if scho did his will, That nonnerie walde he strothe and spill. This ilk ȝonge nonne was unmightie To stand agayne this foule folye, And saide full swith, my dere ladie, To do ȝoure will, I am redye. This nonne to the bisschope fore, And of hir self scho made a hore. Allas, that scho ne had halden the triste That scho made with Jesu Criste. For sothe I saie, and scho had sene How faire hir self was, and how schene, When that scho was mayden clene, Had scho noght synned als I wene. Allas, that scho noght undirstude How Criste, that boght hir on the rude, Had tane hir als his leeue spouse, And broght hir to his awne howse. Methink scho chaungid wricchidlye, When scho left Criste hir leue luttbye, And toke hir to a synfull man, For to be his lemmane. A Lorde, sorowfull had scho bene, If scho hir awne state had sene,

How faire gasteli scho was and bright, Whiles hir maydenhede was hir tight. Lathe had hir bene to do that synne, For any werldes gode to wynne. Bot for scho was als wommane waike, Scho heldid sone to synfull layke, That made hir to God full lathe, In bodie, and in saule bathe. For thare scho tynt hir maydenhede, And thare with all that blissfull mede, That maydens sall haue in that blisse, Thare Criste thaire lemman sall thaim kisse. And all that will this tale here, Gode ensaumpil may thai lere, Unsikir of thaim self to be, If thai will understand and se, How wyse man this bisschope wasse, And sithen to foly gon he passe,] Sa stithelic igain him ras The fend, that him feld in place. Full ille bers us lah and kinc, Quen apon this bischop we think, For he, that thef that gert him falle, Es about to sla us alle. Bot sinful man gers him oft schurne, And castis him wit his awen turne,

Quen [he] him schrifes of his sin, And kepes no mar falle thar inne. Lauerd, mikel es thi mercie, For ay Lauerd, es thou redye For to forgif us our folye, Als oft als we for mercie the crye; Be our sin neuer sa ugli, Thou forgifes us sa freli, That al men mai think ferlye Of thi pete, and thi mercye. For thar na man fal in wanhop, That thinkes wel on this bischop, For this bischop, of quaim I telle, Sa dep in filth of sinne he felle, That he was worthe to brinne in helle. And thar euermar to duelle, Yef it no hafd ben thi mercye, That gert him ris of sin in hy, And forthi suld alle men lof the, And bowsom to thi wille be. For thou, that geris the dumbe spek, Thoru schrift, thou gert this bischop brek The fendes band, and his maistri, Wel birs us blis the derworthelye. Kep I na langer her to duelle, Bot forthi our tal will I telle,

How this bischop, wit penanz ras Out of his sin, thoru Goddes grace. Quen this bischop this sin hafd don, Our Lauerd send him grace ful son, And gert him think wel of his state, And son bigan he for to grate, And said, allas, that I was borne, Schamlic haf I me forlorne, Bischop I am, and suld wel lif, And god ensampil til other gif, And haf swa my sawel schente, That I war worthe for to be brente, Allas, thate euer was I clerc, Qui tok I on me Goddes werc, Forsothe Ic am wel mar to blame, And for to thol wel mar schame, Thanne er thir simpel lawed menne, Thaim I suld bathe lere and kenne, And now am I wel wer than thaye, Ic haf plaied a sorful playe, For Ic haf broken Goddes house, And reft Ic haf Jesus his spouse, Allas, allas, that I was born, For al folc mai drife me to schorn, How sal I fare on domes daye, Quen I salle be flemid awaye

Fra Goddes faz, til pin of helle, Wit outen end tharinne to dwelle. Quen he him thoht of helle pin, And quat thai thol that er tharin, And of that joy that he hafd tinte, To sla him self he hafd minte, Sa sorful was this erzbischop, That almast fel he in wanhop, Bot Goddes graz was son redye, And wald noht thol him miscarye, Bot conforted him wit swetly sware, And lethed his soru and his kare, And gert him ful son haf god hop, That the lestes blodes drop Of that ilc derworthi blode, That Jesus sched apon the rode, Was of wel mar derworthines, Than alle men sin of wikednes. And son he gan to kalle and krye At the yates of mercye. He gert graithe him a priue sted, Thar he moht lif wit water and brede. A pouer hous was son purvaide, And pouer atir tharin was layde, And thar woned this bischop lange, In soru of hert and penanz strange.

Quen paroschenis com him to, Mani nedes wit him to do, He gert his serganz til thaim saie, That he in Godes bandes laie. For he fended the serganz That thai suld tel man his penanz. This erzebischop lifd thare, In strang penanz, and soru, and kare. Wit hayr ful hard his bodi he cledde, Wit bred and water was he fedde, He wroht that bodi wa inohe, That him to filth of sin drohe. He yald it that it gert him do, Wit pin, and reft it rest and ro. His foul fleis drohn him to sin, Forthi he mad it pouer and thin. The lawed folc was iuel payed, And for thair bischop gern prayed, For thai wend alle that he sek ware, And for him was thair hert ful sare. Erles, knihtes, and baronnes, Prestes, vikers, and parsonnes Toht of thair bischop gret ferli, And pleined thaim, and askid qui, That thai moht noht thair bischop se. And wel thai wend that ded war he.

Sum mananced his durs to brek, Bot yef thai moht wit him spek. Than wald his chamberlain thaim stille, And fair he graunted thaim thair wille, He bad thaim in the palays duelle, And said he suld his lauerd telle, Alle thair langing and thair wille, [And ger the byschop come thaim tylle]. This chamberlain to chamber yode, And said his lauerd, wit sari mode, Alle quat the folc said him to, Bot yef thai moht cum him to. And quen the bischop herd this, Ful sorful was his hert, I wis, He chanded son his ouri wed, And forth into the halle he yed. The folc saw wel his pouer state, And sar for him gan thai grate, For wel thai thoht that he was sek, For pal and clungen was his chek, His skin was klungen to the bane, For fleische apon him was thar nane. Quen folc wit him thair fille hauid spokin, Igain in chamber was he lokin, His frendes saw wel bi his faz, That he hafd mister of solaz,

And gert him wel eet and drinc, And lef his utrageous swinc; Bot ai he thoht apon his sinne, That stang his hert ful sar wit inne. And quen the laued folc wel herd, That thair bischop better ferd, Ful fain thai war, and com riht son Til him, and askid him a bon; That he suld on hey fest day, Sing them a messe, gern prayed thai. The bischop son him umthoht, That sing the mes moht he noht, Ar he was scrifen of his sinne, That bate his hert sa sar within. Bot noht forthi, him was ful lathe To wain thaim, or mac thaim wrathe. He hiht the folk thair messe to sing, And thai war fain of his hihting. Bathe ald and yong, and mar and lesse, Com for to her the bischop messe, Apon a hey fest day, For it to her ful fain war thai. Quen the bischop to sing was graithed, And riche atir on auter laid, He stod stille, and bigan to preche, Als man that cuthe the folc teche.

He preched on sa fair maner, That it was joi for to her, And quen his sermoun ended was, The folc wit mikel joi up ras, And thankid Jesus in that plaz, That gaf thair bischop sli graz. Bot he gert thaim sit doun igain, And said, you bird be unfain Of me, that sulde be your bischop, For Ic es werr man than ye hop. Ye wen ful wel nou euerilkan, That I be a ful hali man, And I say you, forsothe, that ye Foullic deceuid er of me. For me self haf I swa schent, That I war worthe for to be brent, For Ic am a kaitif lechour, And ille man, and Goddes traytour. Bifor him al the folc he kald, And tille thaim alle his sin he tald. Quen he hauid said his sinful ded, He kest of him that riche wed, That es at sai, his vestement, And thoru the folc barfot he went. This folc bigan to grat and cry, And bad him turn igain in hey.

Thai said, our Lauerd es ful redi To haf of the ful god mercy. We wil, thai said, apon us take Al thi sin, and al thi wrak. Forthi fader, we praye the, Thou turne igain, and bischop be. Bot moht thair praier noht auail, For wald he noht trow thair consail, Bot did him forthe, als he wair wode, Wit soru, and sit, and dreri mode. Awai he ran, and sar he gret, And wit a womman son he met, That bar a child in hir arm, In swethel cloutes liand warm. This child was noht and half yer ald, And spac, thohquethir, wordes bald Til the bischop, and askid qui He was sa sorful and sary. The child spac thoru the haligaste, And bad him turne igain in haste. Ga swithe, he said, and fing thi messe, For al thi sin forgiuen esse. This child spac graytheli wit mouthe, Bot thoru kind, spec it ne kouthe. Bot thoru mirakel spac he thare, And bad the bischop lef his kare,

And turn igain, als Ic haf said, Thar it in noriz arm was laid. This bischop flekerid in his thoht, For graitheli no wist he noht, Hougat this yong child spac him tille, Quethir with god gast, or wit ille. Forthi wald he noht turne igain, No to the childes norz be bain, And did him forthe als he war madde, For riht repentanz mad him radde. And an angel bi wai he mette, In mannes fourm, that him grette, And said, Godd sendes me to the, And biddes the bald and siker be, That al thi sin forgiuen isse, And biddes the turn and sing thi messe. The bischop for, als he war medde, And the angel to kirc him ledde, And did his vestement him on, And gert him sing his messe riht son. The bischop wel sang his messe than, And sithen bicom a hali man, That bathe lered, and lawed said, That this auntour was for him laid, To ger him better be manne, And stither stand igain Satane.

And bi this tale, mai we se alle, That God tholes god men to falle, For he wil that they stither rise, And be cunnand in his seruise. Als oft als man in sin falles, Als oft Crist fra sin him calles, And biddes him turn, wit swetli sware, Fra sinne, and fall tharin no mare. And forthi that Crist on slic wis Bathe lates us falle, and gers us ris, Symeon in our godspel said, That Crist to mani man was laid, In falling and in rising bathe, For Crist lates falle and rise bathe, Als we mai bi this bischop se, For first he felle, and sithen ras he. Prai we till God of heuin forthi, That he haf of us mercye And yef we fal in any schathe, He gif us graz to rise rathe, And cum wit him to that blisse, That nou this bischop wit him isse.

Amen.